Showdown: No holding back
by Anla'shok
Summary: 24 teens with little in common save their will to survive. How can you kill when the real enemy is not the desperate tribute clutching that knife but the cruel overlords enjoying the show? Delve beyond the cliches to discover the real wickedness of the Games and the truth behind the Capitol's power.A character-driven tale of deceit,damning choices and bloody politics. Not a SYOT
1. Prologue: An odd request

**Disclamer: I own a computer and my imagination. Every name and concept you recognize from Suzanne Collins' work is her property.  
**

**Prologue**

Livius Ostrovski's jeweled cane hit the marble floor rhythmically as the aristocratic man neared President Zephyr's office. Livius didn't look a day over forty-five, standing erect and alert as a bird of prey. Yet he felt each and every of his seventy-two winters in his bones.

"Mr. President, what an honor," he said as the thick doors before him opened to reveal the man who had appointed him a decade before as Head Gamemaker, for reasons still unknown.

President Zephyr offered him a drink. He gladly accepted.

"I have been told the animals are ready, Mr. President. The beavers have been giving us some trouble but I've been assured they will all be perfect for the Games."

Zephyr lifted the crystal glass to his lips, his tattooed eyes fixed on the taller man. "You are quite the scandal, Livius. Your three predecessors died in office. Such an exalted position, why quit?"

Livius tensed despite the lack of threat in the President's tone.

"A few years are nothing to the vagaries of history. I prefer to be remembered at my best and live my twilight years in the comfort of my home," the Head Gamemaker said, trying to sound humble.

He had barely enough energy for one last Games. Mistakes were not tolerate for one such as he and power's enticing pull had loosened over the years. He remembered most vividly how his predecessor had died. The cruel Cornelia Frost still haunted his nights.

"You are a wiser man than most," Zephyr said after a pause.

He stood up and signaled the other to follow. He gestured out the window. "What do you see?"

Livius' eyes swept over the grand central square. It was a flurry of activity, the heart of the Capitol's elite. He hid his growing disquiet well, as if the unexpected question was a mere pleasantry.

"I see a city at its peak, Mr. President."

"Glass beads can glitter as much as gold in the right light…. Old records show this nation as a leader of the world. Now we are but a small actor of what remains of civilization."

A bitter smile drew itself on Zephyr's lips. "Did you know there is a room in which there are files on every single family in every district up to the fifty-first Games? Hundreds of people used to put those together, finding every little detail about the tributes' lives, every single seed of rebellion…." Zephyr chuckled at the other man's carefully blank face."I know my days are numbered; a tired president is a doomed president. Flores, Snow, Aquila... they are already sharpening their knives. I have tried to loosen the chokeholds crippling our country, but it seems any change would cause Panem to implode..."

"Mr. President, you did bring some change," Livius pointed out cautiously.

A frightening laugh, thick with deprecation echoed against the walls.

"By making boys be picked first, because gentlemen should always tread first where danger lurks?" Zephyr said with a mirthless smile. "People indulged me, believing I just wanted to leave my mark." Bitter darkness tainted the man's features. "Did you know that Twelve still relied heavily on oil lamps when I came into office, Livius? In Nine fertilizers poisoned the water. Do you remember the scandal when I ordered five hundred tractors built? But who complained when production soared? Over the Eastern Ocean they mock us, calling us savages. Not that any in the districts suspect.…"

Livius fingered his thick golden mustache, unnerved by the turn of the conversation. He had always thought Zephyr would outlive him but now feared for the man's sanity.

"I want you to send a message this year, Livius. I want people to remember that the Hunger Games were meant as punishment, not entertainment. I want them oppressive and striking. I want people to think."

Livius bowed his head, repressing a shiver at the man's implications. Was Zephyr asking him to spur a rebellion? Livius had to leave the political scene quickly, he had become much too old for such intrigues. He would obey, as always.

"It will be done, Mr. President."

* * *

**Chapter 14 is the train rides. If you don't want to know about tributes beforehand, you can read from there. I'm not sure it's such a great idea though. xD  
**

**As one sharp-eyed reader pointed out (ETNRL4L, who has written some truly outstanding fics on the Mellark family): Snow had been ruling since approximately the first quarter quell in canon. My fic is AU in that regard, but only in that regard. The point to this deviation from canon will appear chapter 38 and is a major plot point for the Post-Games part.  
**

**Check out my profile if you are interested by a review exchange.  
**

**THIS STORY IS BEING REVIEWED. I'm slowly going back through the chapters and correcting the many punctuation and paragraphing mistakes so that I can't use the 'oh it's an old fic, I'm better now' excuse for grammar.  
**

**Advancement: ch38/50  
**


	2. District 1: Popularity and Revenge

** A short introduction, and then the first Career district.  
**

* * *

Women were dusting the furniture with more enthusiasm than any other day, humming as they made sure everything was pristine for when guests arrived. People smiled more as they went to work. There was a spring in their step, a hint of originality and daring to their fancy clothes. Anticipation and excitement were almost tangible as the Hunger Games cheer invaded the fortress city. The Capitol was never so bubbly as when reaping season approached.

In the districts, life went on as normal. Idleness was a luxury few could afford. If one looked closely, one might notice a certain stiffness in parents' shoulders as they saw their teenaged children off to school or work, or hostile glances sent in the training centers, as sparring partners turned into rivals. Hushed whispers were exchanged. Children stayed up late despite their strenuous days, eyes riveted on the ceiling over their beds, somber thoughts invading their young minds. An observant watcher might notice the slight hesitation in a youngster's promise of everlasting love or friendship, or the sudden flicker of fear in a siblings' eyes.

No one ever got used to the cruelty of the Hunger Games. Two deaths, even deaths of children, were nothing unheard of, or even uncommon, especially in the outlying districts, but the Games still lost none of their terrible power.

President Zephyr raised his eyes from his screen. For a few years now, disturbing thoughts had plagued his waking days and restless nights. He wondered if the future tributes already knew, aided by some sixth sense. He tried hard not to imagine what they could be doing right now, leading their little lives, so ignorant of what the world truly was.

* * *

**Armagnac Dessonges, 17, District 1.**

Armagnac threw the last rope end, wrapping it solidly over the thick tree branch. He then jumped in the middle of the concealed snare he'd made, hands protectively behind his head. He cursed as he was lifted in the air. Still too loose. Anyone with a knife would be out in seconds. Snares were uncool for Careers, especially Careers of his caliber, but he'd seen the recordings. He'd not be made a fool of during the Games because of a remediable gap in his skills. Swords didn't solve everything. A satisfied smile drew itself on his lips as he failed to break out through sheer strength. He pulled himself up, his large arms bulging as he reached the top of his rough trap. 190 pounds of muscle tugged on his left arm as he undid one of the knots with his right. The snare fell apart. He let himself fall down with a thud and packed the ropes in his bag. Maybe he'd just stick to the thinner ropes. They were mostly useless for anything other than snares though, and he wouldn't be wheeling a cart around.

Armagnac didn't plan on volunteering, but he liked feeling prepared and fit. Training alone in the park was soothing. There was no competition or people to judge him. he didn't mind the occasional passersby who stopped to watch. Twenty minutes and four miles later, Armagnac reached the barracks, feeling pleasantly warmed up. He greeted the others, receiving a few grunts and "Hi"s in response. He checked the time before stuffing his bag in his locker. He hoped Dys wouldn't be too late.

His best friend didn't disappoint him.

"Boo!" Armagnac stiffened as a large hand slapped his buttocks. He smirked as the spear he'd just thrown hit the target despite the distraction.

"Mate, get yourself a girl," he said, cuffing the taller guy's head.

"And lose the little free time I already have? Are you daft? Now stop fooling around, real weapons are over there." Dysprosium said, jerking his thumb towards the swords.

Armagnac picked a heavy bastard sword, testing its balance. He was careful not to spend too much time with the same blade, despite the frustration having to readapt to his weapon every single time. There was no use in getting familiar with a sword he'd leave behind.

He barked a laugh upon seeing the other's choice "Dys, who uses a scimitar?"

Dys grinned. "_I_ can afford to use a disadvantageous weapon that looks cool."

"It's harder to look cool with an ugly sword," Armagnac shot back, lunging for the his friend's legs.

But Dys was right, he was talented. The shorter curved blade stopped Armagnac's every blow. The stouter boy hadn't been born with a feel for swords, a sixth sense or dashing good looks, but he'd been born solid with a love of effort. He wasn't the best, nor even secod-best, but he was good at everything. He just had to find the skill his opponent didn't have. With Dys, that was no challenge.

Armagnac brought his dulled sword down hard, forcing Dys to twist and parry. The latter was now at a disadvantage: his arms were too tense and his lighter blade pinned down. Armagnac dropped his sword instead of striking. Dys crashed on the floor, cradling his bruised wrist. The other boy's elbow was pressed against his neck.

"No fair," Dys pouted good-naturedly. Armagnac winked, straightening his thin leather armor after having released his friend.

"Fair is only when the other's losing," he said.

"Arman!"

Armagnac turned. A short haired brunette was standing by the door. He smiled at the ten year old. She was one of the best youngsters he'd seen with a spear.

"Mink! You're early."

Mink flashed him a cute smile "I've got a party later, so I thought that maybe..."

She scowled fiercely as she saw Dys' eye roll.

"I'm not talking to you, Dysprosium!"

"Nope, no talking. You're fighting his two hand sword," Armagnac said choosing a weapon Dys wasn't so good with, "with a spear. First blood."

Dys sighed. "Arman..."

"I promised her an hour, Mate. Besides she might teach you a thing or two about spears being real weapons even in close combat."

Dys rolled his eyes again but complied.

Dys lost twice then won before losing again. Finally Armagnac threw him a long sword. He was impressed to see Mink still score two wins out of ten.

"Ace, kid. I'm glad I'll be out of the competition when your turn comes," he said.

"I'm glad too," she smirked, wiping her forehead "And since you're okay, I'll just make you bow instead of also scraping my shoes when I'll win".

Dys snorted, Armagnac grinned at her.

He brightened when he saw Diva walk through the door. The shapely girl winked at Mink as the girl headed out. She pecked both boys on the cheek, ignoring the contemptuous looks of many of the other trainees.

"Guess what," she said, smiling like a content cat.

"Spit it out, we're working, Mundane." Dys said, sticking his nose up.

Diva hadn't gone on to pursue Career training after primary school. Mundanes and Careers seldom hung out together, but Diva had never let the whispers that she was a skank enticing hard working Careers get to her. The whispers had grown worse now that her singing in their band had made her popularity soar. She had to be the toughest person Armagnac knew.

"We're playing at the Glittering Halls tomorrow. The patron finally agreed to host us."

"Way to go!"

Dys lifted the short girl up, making her laugh in delight, before throwing her into his friend's arms. Armagnac caught her in flight and made her twirl.

"You told Lucre yet?" He asked as steadied his breathless friend. She shook her head.

"I'm helping him pick a present for his sister this afternoon. I'll break him the news then. I got to go, dress smart for practice tonight, we'll need to match perfectly. Can I tell Diadem?"

Armagnac smiled softly. His girlfriend had probably been at the Halls thousands of times. He didn't doubt that her family even got in for free. Besides, he knew there was an aspect to their concerts Diadem hated: the despised girlfriend of the manly drummer. Nevertheless a stupid grin lit his face at the prospect of sharing that milestone with her.

"Give her a knife. You can't stop the others from drooling but at least you two will have some breathing space," Diva suggested wickedly before skipping out.

"Why don't you date her?" Armagnac whispered to Dys.

The other eyed him strangely. "Mate, you serious? She's my best friend. She'll be there all my life. I'll get myself an awesome wife someday and I'll have two awesome women for myself. Plus gorgeous daughters of course. Why have less if I can have more?"

_Quite true._ Still Dys didn't know what he was missing on.

* * *

The concert had been perfect. Armagnac was still half drunk from the cheers. Diadem rested her head in the crook of his neck. Her polished nails lightly scratched his bare arms. He kissed her forehead.

"What's wrong, Baby?"

"You're too good," she said. Her eyebrows were curly at the edges and made her look perpetually awed, she was so beautiful.

"What? Afraid I've ruined you for all the other guys?" Despite his light voice, he was concerned. Diadem didn't do drama, this had to be serious. She punched him and disentangled herself.

Armagnac grasped her shoulders. "Baby, if it's Shine, forget her. You know what I think of loud groupies," he said, wishing the glamorous Shine would just hook up and leave him alone. Diadem's full lips twitched, she pulled him into a languorous embrace.

Her eyes were still sad when they parted. He found himself wishing the only thing covering her were those sexy red locks of hers. He'd wipe that sadness away.

"I wish it were that..." she began, tracing his lips with a finger. Armagnac cocked a bushy eyebrow, fighting the urge to let his hands roam.

"You're pregnant, it's not mine and you don't remember because you were too drunk."

This time the punch was hard enough to make him wince. Diadem stood up and wrapped her arms around her.

"Arman, you've been chosen to volunteer. They'll tell you sometime this week."

The young man jumped to his feet, surprised. Inside he was torn, he'd trained so hard. A boyish grin lit his lips at the prospect of such glory. Diadem let out a sharp chuckle at his reaction. It sounded suspiciously like a sob. Armagnac grasped her hand, at a loss. He was sure he'd be terrified if their places were reversed, but the hardness in Diadem's posture seemed over the top. Volunteers were people that were expected to win. His chances weren't bad.

"I'm darn good, Baby, if they'd choose someone..."

"No," Diadem cut him, her whole face twisted into a snarl. "You're not in the top ten. You're quite skilled but not _talented_. They'll make you because they're afraid you'll grow more popular than the victors without ever attending the Games and they're afraid of that. They can't have people think there are other paths to glory than the Hunger Games."

Armagnac stared at her in shock. He didn't doubt she was serious, but more popular than freaking _Gloss and Cashmere_? Were people out of their minds?

"Baby, that's ridiculous! Now I'm awesome because I'm in a decent band, because I'm one of the few... well the only, elite Career-in-training that bothers to be nice. In three years I'll be helping Father with the furs, I'll be one of the many guys who shows off muscle in a job he doesn't need it for. And in ten years at most the band will be long forgotten."

He began to panic when his girl's eyes began to overflow. He'd never seen Diadem cry before and he couldn't see how to make her better. Her musical voice was trembling. He had the sudden urge to kill someone.

"They worship you, Love! You take time to help them train, you don't put them down. I heard Mink stand up to Fugu telling him he was being rude and _inefficient._ The kids who've fought you are standing up to the older ones," Diadem swallowed, a small laugh escaping her lips, "They've formed a group in your honor based on positive encouragement for God's sake!"

Armagnac found himself grinning, pride swelling up inside him. "That's so cool!"

Diadem laughed again, wiping her eyes. "You're such a kid. I love you."

"Love you too," Armagnac said, hugging her tightly.

* * *

**Carnelia Aspen, 18, District 1**

The thin forty-two inches long chain-whip sliced the air. Its blackened blade severed a branch full of black cherries from the tree.

Carnelia shifted her weight and climbed even higher to catch the last of the ripe fruits. She felt wood fold and groan under her feet. A dozen more cherries fell to the ground before the branches supporting her snapped. She gave a sharp twist of her wrist. The cast metal rings between the 3 inch long metal rods rearranged themselves, changing the flexible chain's trajectory and wrapping it around the nearest sturdy branch.

Stable once more, the lean girl let herself fall to the ground and put her weapon away. She picked up the fallen cherries, popping them into her mouth one by one. She wove a necklace with the remaining ones and ran towards her house. She had no real hurry to see her parents, on the contrary, she was already late, but she enjoyed the wind on her face and the heat in her muscles.

"Where were you?" A stern red-haired woman asked sharply.

"Picking cherries. Want some?" Carnelia replied, licking her stained lips.

"I made dinner."

"Well I had cherries, all the more for you two."

"I will not have that kind of attitude under my roof," Tiara Aspen shouted, lifting a hand.

Carnelia boredly lifted her eyebrow, daring the woman to strike her. She stood eight inches taller than her purple-faced mother.

"Quiet, Woman. Get out, Carnelia, if that's what you want. And cut that mess you call hair."

Carnelia didn't even turn to meet her father's eyes. She left the house, sneering. _Typical._ After all their _perfect_ little family had no problems. Perish the thought of actually having a real talk and doing something about their problems. She wished they'd actually shout at each other for once, it had to be healthier than...this. Dinner was a chore for everyone. She'd rather spare herself the pain.

Her thick auburn locks reached her hips and were her only vanity. A marked hip-line complimented her lean muscled body but try as she might, she would not spot a hint of breasts in the mirror. Too much exercise done too early the doctor had told her dear despairing mother.

Her parents had wanted little Career prodigies so her and her older brother had trained since they were three. She'd been a weak fool, killing herself to make them proud. Splendor had succeeded first, killing himself that is. An elbow to the temple from Gloss as her brother had tried to volunteer nearly four years before. Gloss had later come to apologize to their family and, unlike her parents, she had had no trouble granting the new victor her forgiveness. There had been nothing of her brother other than training, not even the odd witty word or creative thought. He'd been a drilling machine. There was no void in her heart because he'd had no real place in it.

Carnelia hated swords. They clanged and grated against each other, so heavy and inflexible. At least knives brought a bit more satisfaction. And then she'd discovered whips. She'd been eight when they'd gone to the fashionable circus for the first time. The then terrifying tigers and lions had all danced to the whip cracks of a midget with shiny black boots. He'd been weak but strong, and Carnelia had desperately wanted to be strong. She'd snuck into his caravan after the show and demanded to buy his weapon. He'd refused and instead had offered her a seat and made her many drawing of different kinds of whips. He told her what they were and how to use them. The girl's gray eyes were full of stars when he'd sent her away in the middle of the night.

Her parents had been furious when she came back so late. They locked her in her room without a word. Carnelia had thought they didn't love her because she was weak, but when they ripped her precious notes to shreds, she knew that she would never feel the need to impress them ever again. She hated them. She tracked the little man down six months later when the circus returned, having stolen enough money from her father to pay for twenty whips. She blamed it on the servant, a rude man who had shouted at her every time she came back home with dirty feet. She'd gotten the bull whip, had loads of money left, and the servant got sacked.

By the time she was fifteen, she could disarm her instructors in six slashes. She knew exactly which nerves to strike to make them drop their weapons. One of them, Argent, had told her he could obtain her a more lethal whip. A chain whip. He'd wanted to sleep with her. She eventually did, when she failed to get one herself. She got the metal whip and learned to use it alone.

Tall as she was, people recognized her easily. No one stopped her from entering the circus' perimeter. She inhaled as she neared the menagerie. Her lips twitched at the pungent scent of caged felines.

"Hello, Master Imp," she greeted as she finally spotted the dwarf. She made a point of visiting him whenever the circus came to town. He marched up to her with a toothy grin.

"Hello-o, Lili-tiger! Can you even hear me up there?" He said, his hands cupped around his mouth. He was the only person who got away with pokes at her height, for obvious reasons.

"Excuse me," she said, bending down with a hand cupped to her ear. "Can you speak louder, Sir?"

He kicked the girl in the shins and grasped her trousers by a belt loop.

"Come on in. I've got a show at ten, special for the Council. Who should I be brown-nosing to in the crowd, eh?"

A feral smile lit Carnelia's face as they reached his caravan. She could just picture the little man inwardly laughing himself silly while making pirouettes for their big and mighty councilmen. She was almost disappointed when he ushered her out two hours later. She could count the people she had interesting conversations with on three fingers and tried to avoid Argent as much as possible. She hadn't slept with him again, and he was no rapist, but he crept her out.

Surprised chuckles made her stop in her tracks. Four teens were seated just beyond the camp, smoking weed.

"Why isn't that the giant! Didn't know you were part of the show. I can just picture you in a pelt, roaring."

Crescent's girlfriends giggled stupidly. It was no secret that they thought she was dirt. Rage drew a cold smile on Carnelia's lips.

"Why you naughty boy, late in the evening with three girls to your harem and not one of them your girlfriend. Is Rosacea really that open? Or are you already grooming a replacement for after the Games?"

It was no secret in their town that the gifted Career would volunteer.

The nineteen year old bolted up, fists clenched. "You lowborn slut! How dare you even speak her name!"

His foot collided with her stomach before she thought to protect herself. She rolled over as she hit the ground, jumped to her feet and ran away. She stood no chance against him unarmed but he couldn't match her speed. The sound of the group's mocking laughter sealed their fate.

An insane plan formed in Carnelia's mind. She slowed down, rubbing her stomach absently. Was she prepared to go that far? To risk her life to quench her thirst for revenge? Hate boiled in her veins. Oh yes, she was. She took her fat golden earrings off and handed one to each of the young peacekeepers patrolling the artists' camp. The people of the circus weren't from One and therefore looked down upon. Without the uniformed men's surveillance they were sure to be harassed. Circus guard wasn't a prestigious assignment, so Carnelia knew those two weren't from One or Two, and that suited her just fine.

"I'd like the four spoiled children doing drugs over there to be dragged by the ear through the main street. I promise this is no distraction to annoy the artists," she said, hoping she looked mild.

"You talk to the midget, right?" One of them said, stroking his stubby beard.

"Master Imp? Yes, he's a friend."

The two eyed each other, twin small smiles on their faces. "You know they'll barely get scolded by the Mayor for just drugs right?"

_Of course you near-sighted fool. But they'll be humiliated_. The two huge men headed towards Crescent's hideout.

* * *

**Armagnac Dessonges, 17, District 1.**

Armagnac stood in what he hoped was a dignified manner next to Dys, at the edge of the boy's seventeen section.

He'd had the worst fight of his life with every one of his family members in the last few days, one after the other, even those who'd been supportive of his going to the Games. Only his father had truly gone bonkers over it, but talking about the Games, and inevitably talking about death, had brought forth deep feelings, good and bad, and words had been thrown around the house like never before.

His mother had blurted out she had had an operation after three miscarriages before giving birth to him. His father revealed that he actually had a second little brother who had died in the Games but no one talked about it because he'd been the only Career in a score of years to die first in the bloodbath. And he'd finally learned the story behind his favorite grandmother's large scar: she'd broken a rib while training illegally the day before the reaping and since she was to volunteer someone else had had to be selected, to punish her they'd operated her a day later with minimal medicine.

He'd been shocked beyond words, somewhat annoyed at realizing there was so much he didn't know about his own family. He vowed to get to the bottom of the matter once he got back. At least his close friends had no such revelations for him.

He was glad the madness was over and desperately hoped he wouldn't have to go through that again just after the reaping. His eyes fell on the stunning Cashmere, victor of the sixtieth Games, and he wondered for the first time which girl would be pitted against him. Which girl he'd trust to keep guard as he slept during the first nights.

Romulus Tither took the microphone and silenced the crowd with a glare.

"District One, welcome to the opening of the 63rd Hunger Games. Now the suspense isn't so strong, but still do pay attention, there could be many reasons no one will volunteer for you." His voice was soft, his eyes slightly mocking. He had to be a fashion oddity in the Capitol with his tight black bun and uniformly dark gray clothes. Only the cane set with glittering red stones brought a touch of color.

He'd made Armagnac shiver with his disturbing speeches before but now the seventeen year old realized Romulus had given him near godlike status. It was he who would decide whether the picked tribute would live or die. The realization made him stand taller, his charming smile suddenly found his way back on his lips.

"The male tribute might just be," Romulus said, lazily pulling a paper out of the big glass ball, "Tempest Cardon"

A strapping boy from the sixteens' briskly walked up to the stage. He took a step back, nearly falling over when Gloss and Cashmere flashed him twin cold smiles. The siblings stood back to back, fingers loosely locked together. Laughter rose from parts of the audience.

"Poor bugger," Dys said.

"Hasn't your mother told you not to squirm during your one minute of glory, Boy?" Romulus tutted in the microphone. The boy blushed redder and the crowd hooted. Armagnac's jaw tightened. Tempest was obviously a Mundane, there was no need to bully him.

"Don't shame the district, please someone volunteer," the escort said, affecting a pained expression.

"I volunteer," Armagnac said, cutting the man short before he could add anything . He ducked and twisted his body upon hearing rapid steps behind him, catching a fierce looking boy and slamming him to the ground. He swept the boy's section with a warning glance, no one else challenged his claim. Few were brave enough to challenge their leaders' decision.

"Armagnac Dessonges, I'm seventeen" He said as the crowd's cheers abated, pride obvious in his tone.

"Ah..."The man said, Armagnac repressed a shiver as he saw Romulus' eyes flicker with malice. "Dessonges. Do you speak French then?"

"Suffisamment pour pouvoir m'en vanter auprès de non-initiés" He replied without missing a beat. The man's lips thinned into a small smile, making Armagnac wish he already was in the arena.

"Then I hope the non-initiated are suitably impressed." Romulus said, making a sweeping gesture over the crowd with his free arm. The teen blushed faintly when he heard a gaggle of girls squeal in the fourteens, professing him undying love. _Leave a man some dignity_. Romulus patted his shoulder before striding towards the girls' ball.

"Now the female... Dream Lidessi." Romulus sighed dramatically "Do not try to smoothen your dress, you will just attract notice to the fact that it is wrinkled, Silly Girl."

Armagnac forced himself not to glare and smiled warmly at Lucre's neighbor. She was a decent career who wanted to join the peacekeepers and the boy didn't doubt the she would do great. He couldn't believe he was seeing her in a dress, noticing for the first time she cut a nice figure.

"I volunteer" a voice cracked close to the stage. Romulus frowned in annoyance. Armagnac decided he would like the girl.

"Carnelia Aspen, eighteen." She said with a mirthless smile. Armagnac was disgruntled to notice she stood at least three inches taller than him.

"Timing, Girl." Romulus replied, unamused as Dream left the stage.

"And risk being flayed by your notorious tongue, Mr. Tithe?" The other said, her incredulous tone laced with suggestiveness. Romulus let her pass with a small smirk.

Maybe Armagnac would _not_ like her after all. The glance she shot him before they linked hands could only be described as predatory. He frowned slightly as he noticed a girl clutching her side and struggling to stand back up among the eighteens.

* * *

Armagnac's chuckle resounded in the now empty room. He couldn't have imagined a more contrived setting. His family, the whole band and Diadem had come in all together, wished him the best in chirping voices and said they loved him, that they would await his return and were sooo proud of him. Even Lucre, making Armagnac want to swat the younger boy. They hugged him to death one after the other while Diadem clutched one of his hands. They left waving, every single one of them. His _grandfather_, waving. It had been seriously creepy. Anyone would think they were dysfunctional. On the other hand he had only fifteen minutes to say goodbye, so it was just as well.

He inhaled deeply over his wrist, daring anyone watching to tease him. Diadem had given him an armband made of hard cloth and soaked in her perfume. It smelled like her through the expensive fragrance. She must've been sleeping with it on since she'd learned he'd be reaped. He hoped she would love again if something were to happen. Funnily enough, he wasn't afraid. He guessed it was foolish of him, but it was just as well.

* * *

**Carnelia Aspen, 18, District 1**

Carnelia hummed as she made her bed. The dawn sun barely lit the sky. A small rock collided against her window. She opened it and jumped out, ignoring her sleepy mother's calls.

"Ready for the Reapings?" Yaupon -or Yuppy as Carnelia called her- asked brightly. The town next to hers would host the reapings that year. They had a long walk ahead of them but this was better than riding with her parents.

"Quite," she said, a cruel smile making its way on her lips.

"We'll make it a drinking game, one shot each time you draw blood. And, dearie, I want to get drunk."

Carnelia's smile deepened as her best friend chuckled at the prospect.

_"Sooo,_ solitary prowler?" Yuppy said with a knowing grin.

Carnelia frowned.

"You know, misunderstood with an unusual talent, yadda yadda. It's bound to get you sponsors."

Carnelia's grey eyes widened in understanding. Yes, it could be a great angle. "I don't get my tearful goodbyes then?" She said coyly.

Yuppy scrunched her face up. Fat tears soon began to fall out of her blue eyes. "Oh-no, my only friend! Why, you cruel gods, why?" She wailed, clutching Carnelia's dark-orange dress.

"Oh stop it, Yuppy," the other growled. Yuppy only wailed harder.

"But who am I going to share my plans to carve up Sugar with, with you gone? Who am I going to call if I feel like a run on the jewel manufacture's rooftops in the middle of the night?"

"I need that dress dry and ironed," Carnelia pointedly said, silencing a new, anxious little voice at the back of her head. It was too late to change her mind.

The blonde girl stood up and wiped her eyes. "Wow, cathartic," she said, "now, I asked because there is no way you're going in there with someone else's trinket."

Carnelia arched an eyebrow in curiosity. "Cough up the gizmo then."

"Incoming," Yuppy said, rummaging in her big handbag. "Ta-da," she said, giving her a satin fan.

"A fan?" The other said. She swished it, bewildered. It fanned decently enough.

"Look closer, Sherlock."

The fan was actually made of a half dozen little flags. Chain-whip flags. She could tie them up to the dart-end one at a time to enhance the weapons balance, and its general coolness factor.

Carnelia grinned. "No one will be topping that."

"You don't say," the other said, awfully pleased with herself.

When you actually listened to him, their escort Romulus was great fun. Carnelia laughed softly as he tore through the bumbling reaped boy before a guy called Armagnac volunteered. She bit her lip in anger as the stout seventeen-year old slammed the other volunteer to the ground. Hand to hand combat was her biggest weakness. She'd keep a very close eye on him. She smiled in contempt as he responded like a typical stung boy to Romulus' challenge. He wasn't too clever, that was a relief. From the strident screams in the young teens section, he had to be well known where he came from.

She fingered the loaded needle in her hand and flicked it at Rosacea. It embedded itself between her side and her golden sparkling belt. She counted to ten. The girl's breath hitched and she fell to her knees, unheard amidst the cheers.

_So that was the sound of crushed dreams._

Carnelia's smug smile deepened when Armagnac -what a mouthful that name- smiled at the reaped young girl. Such a _nice_ guy. That would make her train journey relaxing if anything. He'd be so easy to play.

"I volunteer," she called.

Romulus glowered at her. Had he really expected her to wait and hand him a stick for him to beat her with?

"Carnelia Aspen, eighteen."

"Timing, Girl," Romulus replied, as if someone had stolen his candy. _The poor dear_. She decided to stroke his ego.

"And risk being flayed by your notorious tongue, Mr. Tithe?"

The escort moved aside, approval in his eyes. Carnelia decided she liked him.

She knew Crescent was watching. She licked her teeth, reveling in the sweet taste of vengeance. Her eyes met Armagnac's as they linked hands for the crowd. Her smile deepened as he lowered his gaze. She'd be all Yuppy had said, and feral, because it was so much more fun.

* * *

Her parents didn't come to the Justice Building. That stung more than she'd have ever thought it would _-wasn't her volunteering what they had always wanted?-_ but it was great for her angle. The parents who had let the more talented of the two children down, wracked in grief at the other's death.

_What a load of rubbish._ The Capitol would love it.

Muffled voices behind the door interrupted her musings. "Only friends and family, freak, now get out."

Freak? Carnelia remembered passing the circus as her and Yuppy had reached the large reaping plaza.

She stood up and yanked the door open. Absolute scorn infused her harsh face. "He said he's my friend. You're not paid to think, let him in."

The peacekeeper looked at her in shock but moved aside, muttering something under his breath.

The dwarf shook his head. "People nowadays, no manners at all."

"Thanks," Carnelia replied, eying him strangely. She couldn't say that she knew him all that well but no adult had ever been kinder to her. She was unexpectedly touched that he'd come and wondered for the first time what his true name was. She found herself too shy to ask.

"You heard that?" He squawked, jumping in surprise. "From up there?"

Carnelia snorted. She picked him up on impulse, lifting him over her head with ease. "It's not so far actually, look."

"Wow," he said, raising a hand over his eyes as if he was shielding himself from the sun and peering into the distance.

"Now put me down, Lili," he ordered, his voice serious. Carnelia complied.

"Kid, I thought you had a dream. You know, one that involved surviving, traveling."

Carnelia's small smile vanished at the inquisitive tone. She shrugged, knowing that when the day came, it would never be as simple as what she'd figured.

"If I win, I've got everything. If I lose it won't matter to me anyway. You'll recover. Yuppy will mourn but recover, she has lots of other love in her life. I can't even say for sure my own parents will mourn. It's not like I have any incentive not to be selfish."

The dwarf nodded slowly. "Still..." He grinned. "Come back, you're fun."

Carnelia smirked back. He had to be the only person barring Yuppy who thought that. Then again she'd never humiliated him with a whip.

"I expect to return, Master Imp. You keep having fun, few people seem to know how to."

"That's the sad truth, Lili, and sad it is."

He bowed with a flourish and blew her a kiss before leaving.

Carnelia's smirk grew, she was ready.

* * *

**Original? A sense of déjà vu? Flat? Too long? Entertaining? **

**Stories are like home-made cakes: hours to cook, minutes to eat. It's always so much more gratifying when those who eat make a compliment or a suggestion. (It's a metaphor for the rectangle at the bottom of your screen.)  
**

**Edit: To TodayI'mTyrion: 1) love the pseudo. 2) Yes I'm aware midget/imp are words with negative connotations. But it's a circus so it plays on the shock factor + Carnelia probably's never seen another little person so she doesn't know it's offensive. Still no offense intended to any little person who might be reading this fic.  
**


	3. District 2: Freedom and Excellence

**So these should be the Capitol's favorites. Will they be? Will their training be enough to beat the odds?**

**Warning: Implied abuse. Nothing graphic.  
**

* * *

**Aurora Feather, 16, District Two**

She walked brazenly past the peacekeepers, as if she owned the place. They let her in, she'd known they would. No one walked into the Council's building uninvited. Nothing in her flawless appearance showed how desperate she was.

She was slender but just as strong as any Career. The other girls hated her for that. They hated her because she was beautiful. Because she put on only little make-up, proving that it wasn't because of any artifices on her part that the others were inferior. They hated her because she would not apologize for it by being nice to their poor wounded egos. She didn't raise a hand to her wavy blond hair, there was nothing to check. It was perfect, as always.

She slid four sharp daggers out of her wide sleeves. His office was there. Saphir Liber-Socket. He chose which Careers would volunteer. Some had bypassed his decision. Failing to become Two's tribute anyway hadn't been their only punishment for insolence. Saphir wanted all to march to his tune. Aurora needed to get his attention before her control snapped and she lost any chance at a decent life. She heard the fat man approach before she saw him. He did nothing to cover up his ugliness. He had power, staying purposefully ugly and getting away with it showed just how much power. Aurora figured they might just get along.

Four thuds in half as many seconds. A hair's breadth apart each. _Perfect._ Saphir whipped his girth around with surprising speed, checking his face for scratches. His eyes narrowed at her but he didn't shout out.

"I want to get in the Games this year," she said.

"Volunteer then, Girl."

Aurora kept her face smooth and respectful. She needed him on her side. "And pretend I know better than you? I have manners, Mr. Liber-Socket."

The man eyed her appreciatively. His eyes paused on her breasts.

"You have three more reapings to attend, Aurora Feather, one or two more years of practice will be that much more an advantage for our district."

Aurora didn't blink. Saphir wanted power, she'd give him power. If he felt the future victor owed him...

"I will kill my father if I cannot get away," she said, her voice level. She didn't bother to conceal the hate in her amber eyes.

Saphir's tone grew curious. "Mr. Feather? Why, such an upstanding man."

"He does like being on top," Aurora said keeping her tone pleasant, "I find I'd rather have him under. The ground."

She repressed a smirk. She'd won. She recognized the flicker in his eyes, hunger. Her father had a tight noose over the security personnel in the quarries and many people loyal to him. Even if Saphir wasn't sure she'd win, he would have enough blackmail to bring one of Two's louder voices down.

"Such a beautiful woman, it would be indeed a waste to have you avoxed. Carmen Cantera was to compete. Bring her down publicly and you will have my support."

He nudged one of the daggers still stuck in his office door, it fell, leaving no obvious mark on the wood. He touched the other three and smiled as they clattered similarly on the marble floor.

"Neat." He turned back towards her "Nice meeting you, Aurora."

"The honor was mine, thank you, Head Councilor."

She could see him bask in her deferent tone. Aurora repressed another smirk, they were all alike. Saphir wanted people under him just as much, but he wouldn't touch her. For now at least.

* * *

Aurora was sweaty from practice as the neared the large house she lived in. She heard the bushes rustle, a knife was in her hand in an instant. She let it drop when she recognized Archer. Her nine year old brother was pale, his eyes shining with fear.

"He's already back, don't come in."

Aurora's face paled. She pulled Archer closer and did his shirt buttons straight, her mind whirling. Archer was still so innocent... He only saw her bruises and the looks in his father's eyes. Then a thought came to her. Her lower lip began to tremble, she'd been so selfish.

"Archer, listen to me, I..." She composed herself. "Just listen."

"I'm listening, Rori." His beautiful blue eyes were full of caring. She lifted him to her lap.

"Do you know why we never saw Mum again? After she ran away," she began, hating what she was doing to him. But she'd rather have him less of a child and alive than a corpse.

"Because she went far. It's not been so long, she will come back."

Aurora felt her heart break. Archer had been six when their mother had left. "No. Because father controls some of the peacekeepers, she never got far, Treasure."

She held him tight as he began to thrash, screaming against her chest.

"Archer, you need to have an escape plan. You need it quickly," she said urgently as he dissolved into sobs. He finally wet eyes full of rage towards her.

"So do you," he said, his body still shaking, "I don't know why he's so much meaner to you..."

_Because you look like the mother he worshiped whereas I am a hotter version of the dead wife he pushed around._

"I hate him," he said heatedly. Aurora kissed his cheek.

"You've got loyal friends, pick one that can let you live some time at their home, someone who had no ties to Father and who isn't poor. Go on a sleep over with your precious stuff before Reaping day, then, after the reaping, tell them the truth."

Archer began to twirl his sister's silky hair. "Why reaping?"

_Because I have to do this alone. Because I have no friends. Father can be so charming, why would they believe? Why would their families take the risk of opposing him?_

"Because that's my way out," she said, a small smile lighting her face.

Archer frowned. "But isn't it easier to kill him than all those people that'll be there?"

_If only._

"It's illegal to kill outside the Games. I'd disappear, like all murderers. He'll be taken care of, everyone will know what he is. You just need to keep yourself safe a while."

"Okay." There was a stubborn cast to his jaw. "But Rori..."

"Yes?"

"You're sure there is nothing more I should tell them? To show them how bad he really is? To you?"

Aurora froze, she gently pushed him off her.

"Do you suspect or do you know," she said softly. There was no point in him struggling to conceal it if he did know.

"He told me, he said that if I told you that I knew he'd do worse. I've just realized that was stupid, it's not like you'll tell him."

The knife flew and silenced a chattering bird. Aurora watched the bloodied corpse fall, not daring herself to move. And she was supposed not to kill that monster for another two weeks?

"Oh, Treasure," she whispered. Archer handed her back her knife, with Career-taught disregard for blood. He grabbed her training top and met her eyes.

"Don't go inside. You look happy after practice, not ice-like, it makes you even more beautiful." He pointed at the bloody crow. "I wish you were ugly like that."

Aurora feared she might start to cry.

* * *

There were at least eighty students present in the large training room. Perfect. Carmen Cantera was laughing as she sparred against two opponents. She was built like a wardrobe, square shoulders, bulging pectoral muscles and trunk-like legs. But her mastery of the two-handed sword made up for her lacking looks. She was victor material, Aurora didn't doubt it. She knew how much the Games meant to Carmen and her lips curled at the prospect of taking that away from her, but Aurora had to escape her father's clutches. She had no better plan.

She tutted loudly, holding a short sword loosely against her right leg.

"And that's how we get a District Five victor."

The three stopped abruptly. The only boy stepped forward.

"Go sell your body, Ice Queen," he spat.

Aurora smiled thinly. She was wearing a knee long pleated skirt instead of usual training attire. The insults were expected. Everything had been planned carefully. "That's class and manners to you."

"What do you want?" Carmen said in even tones.

"I was thinking... You are expert with the blade but unless you surprise them sleeping, the better tributes from the districts will kill you in no time."

Carmen stared at her condescendingly. "I also can throw knives and spears and even hammers, you know."

"Oh no, I didn't mean range. I meant anyone with a dagger. You fight to fend off long swords. You rush at me with that, I don't have to throw anything, you're dead."

Carmen's eyes narrowed in fury at the open challenge. Aurora knew the other girl had to accept.

"Right, it'll take a minute," she told her friends tightly. Without much more ado, she walked towards the blonde and swung her blade. Aurora was slightly annoyed. She'd prepared a good speech. Nevertheless she was relieved to see that the bear of a woman had yet to become suspicious. Aurora had been observing Carmen, her first four strikes were always the same.

Aurora stepped to the side, avoiding the first blow and bringing her short sword up. Carmen's weapon was already back up, in the perfect position to parry. Aurora didn't finish her move. Lightning quick, she switched hand and went for the other's exposed side. On seeing the deception, Carmen had twisted both body and blade. The smaller Aurora crouched and took two rapid steps to the side, finding herself behind the heavier girl. A long and deep gash appeared on Carmen's right buttock.

"See?" Aurora boredly said, now out of the sword's range. She heard disparaging whispers behind her. Two daggers concealed in her skirt whistled past the offending Career's ears. She smiled when she saw a girl scream, clutching her now ruined braid.

"Don't try it, you'd kill me or shame yourselves missing by a mile," she coldly warned two teens who'd grabbed knives, "and while you the first outcome may sound appealing, you'd ruin your lives."

She walked out like a queen, knowing they wouldn't risk wounding her now that they'd seen she could retaliate in kind. That little show had better satisfy the ugly man. She couldn't wait to tell Archer. He'd be going at Julia's. She'd observed the family for days and liked what she had seen. Finally she would be in control of her life.

* * *

**Corsair Teneber, 18, District Two**

Corsair shot the white padded armor twice, it darkened where the electric pulses had impacted but the monitors indicated the dummy inside had received only an infinitesimal part of the shock.

_Impressive._

"Isn't it expensive for what it's worth? Hooligans would more likely throw rocks at you," He said to his brothers in his calm, bass voice.

The twins had been exemplary peacekeepers for ten years, so much that Corsair was now testing armor prototypes without any other supervision, in defiance to half the Manufacture's security guidelines.

"We lose weapons to thieves every year, now they'll know it's pointless."

"So this suit is machine-gun proof too?" Corsair said, affecting mild interest.

"Of course not, Smart Ass. People wouldn't dream to steal from us in the districts where we're allowed automatics out. They get much tamer when we've got the right to kill them," the more talkative Martial said, his lips curling.

"When are you joining, baby brother," Cillian asked, putting the pulse guns away.

_Baby brother_ stood taller by a half a head than both of them, and they were far from small. He had classically-styled hair of the deepest brown and eyes able to suck the warmth out of any room. Muscled yet in no way bulky, he had the looks of a the perfect law enforcer: frightening, emotionless and perceptive. But Corsair had no intention to don the uniform. He found firearms much too fascinating to be merely used as tools.

"Never, I'm going to outfit you."

"A stylist?" Martial scoffed "Pussy much?"

"Careful, Brother, I might slip you a defective weapon someday." Corsair said, no threat in his voice. Martial sobered instantly. His twin chuckled.

"Want to look around some more?" Cillian said.

"No. Thank you for the tour."

With all this talk of weapons, he now longed for the feel the hard wood of his morning star.

"Any time. Did Ickle Mary give you a hard time?" Martial grinned, knowing the answer.

"Sweet sister? Never... You know how little these things interest her."

* * *

Mary had thrown a huge fit. At twelve, she was creative enough in her blood thirst to unnerve even seasoned instructors. Corsair had stopped trying to reason her long ago. He had little patience for her fancies.

The automated dummy exploded. Electricity sizzling as its power petered out. Corsair repressed a sigh as dozens of heads turned in his direction. On cue, two stern instructors stomped up to him.

"Teneber! If you cannot respect the equipment you will have to leave the center!"

The broad shouldered youth raised an eyebrow, his morning star still in hand "I was under the impression that as long that our intent was to kill an imaginary opponent, we were to try our hardest against the robots."

The man who spoke reddened in anger. His colleague, Whittle, spoke to him in rapid tones, convincing him to back off.

"You didn't need to do that," the mustached man said.

"I strive to improve."

"You won't. Not against those, not anymore. Learn or improve another skill. I'd rather you blew up steam on the concrete boards. They're much cheaper."

Corsair lost his dismissive air. The man was right and not being obnoxious about it. "You're right, Master Whittle. It won't happen again."

"We have well-balanced bolas waiting just for you," Whittle said with a pointed glance.

Corsair's whole body tensed. His eyes flared with a mix of fury and pain. Whittle took a step back before speaking again.

"Look at you, Corsair, not a single real friend. And why? Because only the very best were worthy of you. The very best are noticed by all and _they get reaped_, Young Man. Deal with your demons quickly, before you meet the same end as Opuntia."

"I hear you," he said, struggling to remain calm, "stay away from me."

The instructor was smart enough to leave.

People moved out of his way as he reached the archery range. Not that anyone ever used bows. Bows were never given out with proper arrows in the arenas, unless someone from the other districts revealed themselves to be remarkably talented. Not even the hunters from Nine had sufficiently impressed the gamekeepers in recent years. He grabbed a pair of bolas, swinging them above his head. They sailed right for the small target, caving the center circle in slightly and left to hang in perfect equilibrium, the chain resting around the top of the target.

Six years. For six years he and Opuntia had outperformed each other, challenging the other with wild tasks, the majority involving bolas. She'd been incredible, disarming swordsmen by imprisoning their hands. Her golden-brown hair and pouty lips still haunted his dreams. She'd died in the Games from food poisoning after having ingested raw meat, wearing the same earrings he'd bought her.

He hadn't forgotten Whittle's words. It seemed he would be called to volunteer. He wasn't so surprised, depressing averageness surrounded him every day.

* * *

**Aurora Feather, 16, District Two**

Zaria Prestige almost lost her balance when Enobaria, the previous year's victor, flashed her a grin, revealing gold tipped pointed teeth. The feral young woman was gorgeous in her form-fitting golden dress. Aurora let the sight calm her down. She knew that she was even more stunning in black. She'd never worn a corset before but found she loved the result. She'd left the house silently at five am, changing at Julia's. Her father had to be furious. He'd be even more so when he'd see her volunteer. She dearly hoped that he would be foolish enough to come after the reaping. Her eyes narrowed as she took in the male tribute. Corsair Teneber. She recalled an intimidating man, training alone with a morning star or destroying targets with the seldom used bolas. He was built like a predator, lean and strong, towering at over six feet six. Handsome in a dark way. She didn't hate him yet but she did fear him.

"Julia Belvedere," the young escort announced.

_Well fancy that_. Aurora's eyes softened. The twelve year old had put a lot of effort into her dress and hair, she deserved to have people admire her.

"Now who will save this young damsel and bring glory to District 2 this year?" Zaria said, raising curled-up extra-long scarlet eyebrows.

Carmen was right where she wanted her, her back to Aurora. The strong girl stepped forward only to receive a sharp punch to the back of her head. She lost her balance and toppled on the paved path. A deathly silence greeted her fall.

"I will save the damsel," Aurora said, gifting Julia with a smile before facing the crowd, a hand on the younger girl's shoulder.

"Does that mean I'll get to save Prince Charming?"

Aurora turned towards the other tribute. There was neither hostility nor warmth in his dark eyes. The girl batted her thick eyelashes at him with a tentative smile, wondering what he was thinking. Awws, sincere and mocking, could be heard in the crowd.

"And our charming tribute this year is?"

"Aurora Feather, sixteen," she said, unable to suppress a smile. She couldn't remember ever feeling so good.

Aurora tensed on feeling Corsair's hand taking hers but his grip stayed light. She took in the assembled crowd before her, the boys' and younger girls' admiring gazes, the older girls' vindicative or jealous stares. She reveled in her newfound freedom.

"Have fun," Julia whispered, leaving her side.

* * *

Aurora smothered a grin when she saw her father push the door open.**  
**

"Ah, Daddy dearest, I was hoping you'd come," she said pleasantly.

He was smartly dressed as always, his eyes twitched but he didn't lose his own pleasant facade. "My beautiful daughter, why?" he asked, stepping towards her.

Aurora forced herself not to flinch or move away. He could do nothing here. "They say the arena is tough, I've found myself enjoying sex in uncomfortable places."

"You think you're smart," her father whispered, now inches from her.

Aurora shivered. She punched his jaw as hard as she could, a cruel grin etched on her face as she felt teeth moving beneath her knuckles. The man spluttered, blood trickling down his jaw.

"I want him out!" She shouted, letting two taken-aback peacekeepers escort him. They were gentle with him, the fools.

She spun in glee, making her dress fly. She was free, free at last!

Archer came in, beaming at her.

"I waited to see what you'd do... You rock, Rori!"

The two embraced, laughing merrily.

"Wow", Archer said, "I can't remember you ever laughing so much!"

He poked a long black feather behind her ear, his face struggling to be solemn. "It's the beautifullest one from that crow you killed. Just like you have always been, so yeah...Got to have a token..."

Aurora cupped his face, deciding she wouldn't take the blue-hued feather off at all. "Don't ever let anyone ever push you around, Treasure. And keep Julia close, she's just lovely."

Archer grinned at her again as he nodded vigorously. "I'll never hurt my children either, I promise," he added, squeezing her hand.

"I never doubted that, Archer, never."

* * *

**Corsair Teneber, 18, District Two**

He wore the smallest of smiles, knowing it unnerved people much more than an emotionless mask.

Corsair's eyes were riveted on the impressionable-looking Zaria Prestige. He knew that no amount of training would make up for lack of support from the Capitol. Women escorts were a minority still, and Two remained the most enviable assignment. If he acknowledged the fact that waif-like Prestige was therefore remarkable by Capitol standard, he would need a course in popularity from the woman, for he couldn't fathom how the 28 year old had landed the job and furthermore kept it for three years.

They didn't respect strength, they respected theatrics, that much was clear as day.

He waited for the customary call for volunteers. He had no intention of attracting more attention than strictly necessary.

No one challenged his claim. The last real scuffle between volunteers had been the year Head Councilor Saphir Liber-Socket had stepped in office. He had made it crystal clear the only Careers from Two would be those wearing his stamp of approval. And that was why he stared when Aurora Feather volunteered, knocking Carmen Cantera to the ground. Saphir looked highly pleased as he straightened his mink collar.

So he'd been forewarned. That was unexpected. Corsair mistrusted surprises.

Aurora was a great beauty. The kind that were allowed to be cold and uncaring and still have infatuated boys singing their praises. She trained apart, rather gifted with throwing weapons, unfriendly even by Career standards. Some called her Ice Queen. She was younger than him by two whole years. He now regretted not having paid more attention to her. But the young woman walking towards the platform was not cold. She was radiant in her form-enhancing long black dress. Triumphant.

_Peculiar._

"I will save the damsel." Aurora said, putting a hand on the reaped twelve year-old girl's shoulder.

Something softened in Corsair as he drank in her stunning traits. There was no threat in her amber eyes, only sheer happiness.

"Does that mean I'll get to save Prince Charming," he heard himself say.

He mentally winced. He'd wanted to avoid imprisoning himself in an angle so soon. She blinked attractively at him, looking cautious in her assessment.

She tensed as he brushed her fingers to salute.

_Very peculiar._

* * *

"Hei ho! Hei ho! Off to the Games he goes! La la la la, la la la la, Heigh ho!..."

Martial and Cillian burst in the Justice building with big smirks on their open faces. Corsair sometimes wondered if they were truly related. They could be so infantile.

"Be kind and keep the house clean, Snow Whites," He replied, looking down at them.

"Do refrain from kissing us, _Prince Charming,_" Martial shot back, smirking.

Corsair sighed. His eyes darted to where the other tribute was making her goodbyes. "Are you blind, brothers?"

They wagged his eyebrows at him in perfect synchrony. Cillian winked.

"We'll hide Ickle Mary's eyes."

Mary shot him a look of pure envy. "Why wouldn't they let me volunteer? I'd slit that bimbo's throat in a blink."

Corsair's eyes grew condescending. Was she really such a fool? "No, you'd want to play, like a cat with a little bird. This bird has sharp claws , Kitty, and would gouge your pretty little eyes out."

Mary's voice rose to a shriek. "No one gouges my eyes out."

"Children, are you quite finished," their father said, silencing his daughter with a glare.

"Knock some sense into her before she throws her life away," Corsair replied, his face much more serious.

"Come back to us. It doesn't matter if you don't score the most kills. People remember the win most of all. But never look weak, Corsair," Gunnar said, ignoring his fuming daughter as he gave his son a military embrace.

His mother wore a beautiful, satisfied smile as she handed his a small leather pouch. It held a silver comb.

"Mother?" Corsair said, raising an eyebrow as she planted a kiss on his cheek.

"Your district partner has sublime long hair. Think, Darling."

Corsair met the woman's mischievous black eyes. He lifted her carefully and kissed her back, his mind spinning with possibilities.

"I heard her shout, while Cillian and Martial were here," he pointed out.

"She smashed that man's nose in. He was spraying blood everywhere." Mary supplied, her anger forgotten as she grinned at the memory.

"Her father?"

His mother nodded, glancing pointedly at the comb.

_Interesting._

* * *

**Ta Da!**

**Any scenes you particularly liked? Anything that you felt could've been removed?  
**

**Reply to ETNRL4L: Armagnac is an wine used in 'refined' cooking in France.  
**

**Please share your thoughts :D  
**


	4. District 3: Despair and Fortitude

**Algor Feyn, 15, District Three**

Algor glowered at his stack of papers. He was working circles. The Monge–Kantorovich transportation problem dated back to before the foundation of the districts, to the beginning of the 20th century by the calendar people used then. He'd read a couple of papers tackling the issue but most referred to other works who were long lost. Every week he could say he'd progressed with his global theory.

Like an ant progressed while climbing a mountain.

People didn't measure how much the cataclysm and the Dark Days had been a disaster for science. Sure, the industrial manuals had been saved and on the surface they were more advanced technologically than three generations ago. But the sad truth was that most of the scientific publications had not. Fundamental research had taken a huge blow.

Algor gave the scanner his messy notes to copy. He left the computer to sort them in multiple folders by keywords and make his scribbles readable and then threw them out. He fought the urge to keep searching: any hour he spent past six pm at the lab was on his own time. He'd learned to be reasonable after the thrill of being the youngest PhD student in over a generation had slightly abated. Working for Turbo Strategies Mathematical Research Institute was a dream. They had groundbreaking softwares and specialists in every domain, but there was also a rigid pecking order.

"Good evening, Algor," Mr. Meyer said from the desk across his. "I'll drop you a note about the budget allocations for next year as soon as I can."

"Will there be enough for a new 3D simulator? The other one sounds like it's taking off every time I launch it."

"I do believe I've convinced Mr. Darkmoor of the necessity," Mr. Meyer said with a small proud smirk.

Mr. Darkmoor... Sounded from the Capitol. Algor wondered just how much Three relied on them. Pecking order decreed he had only token control over his own published articles. He'd never contacted himself any of the people who might provide funding for his research. Mr. Meyer took care of that for him, but Algor was learning, asking few questions but forgetting nothing. He still had time to grow independent and build his own network.

He picked up his suitcase and headed for the bus stop.

* * *

Ten year-old Optima came running towards him before he'd even taken off his jacket.

What in heaven was his little sister wearing? She looked jubilating.

"Look, Al! It's so pretty! My friends are all going to hate me now!"

'It' was a soft rim-less hat. A 'beret' Algor believed they were called. It looked like it had been splashed by a toddler playing with fluorescent rainbow paint. And 'It' was terribly in fashion judging from the flush to Optima's milk-chocolate cheeks.

"When did you buy that?" he said, his lips twitching despite himself.

"I went shopping with the girls." Her dark eyes narrowed. "Why are you laughing?"

_Oops._

The beret had a nice symmetrical shape, paraboloid-like, _yep z=x^2+y^2 sounded about right_. He knew he always looked serious when he was 'thinking numbers' like his father called it. Algor had given up trying to explain he only rarely used numbers at his level.

"Not laughing, you look like a star," he said earnestly.

It was both the truth and not a compliment, but she didn't have to know the last part. Optima clapped her hands and squealed before rushing in front of the tall bathroom mirror, barely avoiding stepping on the cat, and bursting into song. Algor wondered not for the first time if she didn't have multiple personalities, her reasonable, down to earth one and this shrieking baby Lolita. He hung up his jacket.

"Algor, straighten up," he heard his father say. He bit back an eye roll but complied. "When's the last time you went exercising, Son?"

_Not again._

Algor shrugged, hoping it was just another perfunctory question. It wasn't his lucky day.

"Son, come and sit down."

Modul Feyn was a man who knew what he wanted. He had the dry toughness and expert eye of a project manager at Hope, the huge block building in which all the groundbreaking medical equipment was assembled. He assessed his son and found the specifications weren't all met.

"You're growing weedy boy. Now you're all cute but in a year you'll be half a foot taller with not a pound of muscle more. You need to get out. You don't risk getting sacked, Algor. Take the time to take care of yourself."

Algor's mouth twisted. He would rather spend his nights hunched over the properties of endomorphisms of n-dimensional vectors than go out and chase bouncing balls.

"How about ballet, then?" He asked, just to wind the man up.

His father stared. "Ballet?"

"Ya, Dad, pretty girls, nice toned bodies even for the guys..." _Not too much physical effort._

Modul scratched his forehead. "Oh, that too. you need to meet more people."

"Oh come on! We're twelve at the chess club, and I'm the little blue boy at work. I talk to everyone at lunch break."

Optima skipped in and stopped between the two with a grin, her beret in hand.

"Algor, why don't you try it on now. They said it was unisex," she said.

"No way in... Hang on, Timmy, give me that."

He put the god-awful thing over his unruly black hair. He looked ridiculous. So ridiculous that his father was howling with laughter while pointing at him. _Bingo_, Algor thought, blushing furiously.

"Okay, okay, I'm taking this off and getting a hairbrush before Dad has a heart attack."

He high-fived his little sister when they reached the bathroom. "Thanks, Timmy. This is so not unisex though."

Optima giggled and snatched the beret back. "Who cares, you got away. Dad has to learn to lay off. You can't be a genius at everything."

* * *

**Mercury Kernel "Fiddle", 17, District 3**

"Thank you, Fiddle." Old Daemon Gedit ran his hand through his thick white hair. "Start knowing a machine and *poof* a new awesome version comes out and leaves you the fool for even trying to mess with it."

Fiddle grinned at his defeated tone. The retired executive had sold telecommunications his entire life and now made a passion of dismantling and rebuilding them. He held to the belief he'd learn how to do it properly from sheer experience.

"It was no trouble, Sir," the girl said, tucking the note he handed her into her worn belt pouch and heading for the door.

"What's your real name, young lady?"

The girl repressed an urge to sigh. All the ones who cared asked, eventually. There were no names among orphans, no names until you found yourself one that fit well enough that the others deigned to remember you by. Even teachers only went by your self-born name.

"Fiddle," she said firmly.

Daemon exhaled. "I've been looking at recipes lately. My Piper used to cook wonderful cookies but mine turn out more burnt than those fuses. You wouldn't know about cookies would you?"

Fiddle paused. She turned around, her intelligent pale-blue eyes meeting the old man's.

"No," she said with a kind smile, laying a hand on his arm. "On the other hand, I'm sure Fractale Boolea would be thrilled to teach you."

The elderly lady called Fiddle often to fix something or other, more because her estranged daughter had long black hair too than out of necessity. Daemon's dark eyes spoke of the same kind of loneliness. Fiddle wrote Fractale's address and number on a nearby piece of paper, pushing her loose braid out of the way. Daemon took it with a pensive expression, his hand trembling slightly.

"What about you? Anyone who could narrate your life to their children?"

Fiddle's forehead creased as she lowered her gaze. She'd never thought of closeness in those terms before. An apt definition. Her lips quirked. She'd be interested to what tale Aster would tell about her, although he'd sneer at the mere mention of offspring. Her expression grew fond.

"I'm working on it," she said.

"Play at it, you'll only be young once. Now off with you," Daemon said, his sudden gruffness making Fiddle's smile grow wider. Men had such endearing ways of showing gratitude.

* * *

Fiddle jumped off her bike, backing against the bridge rail to make way for the honking tramway. She could see the steelglass spires with their dozens of little windows, each concealing hunched employees racking their brains over their computers. Or at least that was what the singular beehive aspect of the architectural prowess suggested.

The orphanage was an old building in a rather nice part of the Spiral suburbs, or 'the Web' as the technicians manning the specialized machines called them. No matter how advanced technology was, it all came back to basics. Uptown was brains, downtown skill. Spiders and Monkeys in common slang. Three was a well optimized machine.

The girl opened the door to her studio, careful not to hit the shelves behind it. It wasn't that small, but all the space was taken up by spare parts, homebuilt radios, crude but working automated toys and the odd device which had no use at all. Fiddle took her shoes off before replacing a worn looking resistor set between two large copper coils with the one from her belt pouch. She put on rubber gloves before activating a switch and hastily stepped back. Electricity cracked in the room as an electric arc formed in the space between two wires, over a small disk of powder.

Four...five...six seconds. Fiddle grinned as the powder's color lightened two shades. She ignored the pungent smell of the now useless transistors. She'd been right. She often was.

"Because burning your room down is so thrilling when you're late for an appointment with your best friend."

A smug grin was plastered on her face as the dark-haired boy next to the door scowled. Time was a vague concept to the younger orphan except when he was the one waiting.

"Welcome to my den, Finder," Fiddle said, opening her arms in greeting.

Finder blinked. He'd always had to knock before, and had never been invited in. The girl locked her door with a magnet mechanism even little Gimmick hadn't managed to pick. His face softened. They sat on the neatly done bed.

"So how often have the shelves fallen on you?" he teased. He handed her a thick folder "That's the bunch of rubbish you asked for."

Fiddle had taken the habit of printing what she wanted. No eyes could see what she read late at night as long as she wasn't connected. Finder could bypass computer security like no other person she knew. She was careful to ask only for hard of access but not illegal information. Even before she'd met Aster, she'd been wary of thumbing her nose at the Capitol, despite her rabid curiosity for anything historical.

"It's not rubbish. Can you believe hundreds of millions of people lived on this continent once? It's..."

"The past. I've got tomorrow to think about," the fifteen year old said with an eye roll. He withdrew the folder as she reached for it. "Nothing given, nothing owed," he sing-sung, "make me a hero for a minute".

Fiddle stood up and gracefully swished an invisible cloak. Her beautiful alto voice filled the air.

"_There was a time when I was young_

_A boy with bold ambitions_

_There was a time when I could tell the crooked from the wicked one..."_

Finder grinned when she bowed at the end of the song she'd adapted for him.

"You have a queer view of heroes; the man you depict could as well be damned"

"True heroes have a choice," the girl said, putting the folder under her bed.

Finder's smile grew bittersweet. He brushed Fiddle's hair with two fingers.

"I do owe you, lots"

Fiddle hugged him tightly. Since Finder's twelfth birthday, every year on the eve of the reapings, they would say a true goodbye. They rarely talked about feelings, neither orphan was used to be affectionate, and Fiddle found herself cherishing the moments immensely

* * *

She eyed her old plastic wristwatch. Four AM. She repressed a yawn and checked her light makeup in the mirror. She had switched her washed-out jeans for her other pair, the nicer gray trousers. She flashed her reflection an alluring smile before her lips twisted into a self-mocking one. Aster would be appalled if he believed he fed her father issues. Fiddle doubted the man would ever pause to consider she might just be genuinely in love with him. Even she often wondered why she wanted to make her life _that_ difficult.

It was close to five when she reached the large mansion in which the twenty nine year old lived alone, away even from the homes of Three's two other living victors. A window was ajar on the first floor. She'd come every morning before the reapings since she had become eligible. The first time because she was scared and couldn't sleep, the others because Aster had been too tired to conceal he'd liked having her there. She climbed on the uneven stone wall, marveling as always at the charm the architect had managed to give to the antique-looking house. Well, if that's what old stone and oak mansions had ever looked like.

She'd been eleven when she'd first dared seek out Aster, full of childish curiosity about victors and their lives. She'd been so naive, so stubborn in her quest for knowledge that she marveled at not having been physically removed from the house instead of just pointedly ignored until she had learned to read Aster's moods. Now, she'd seen all the Games, not so much for entertainment, but to see the look in the victor's eyes. The look in Aster's eyes. Every sequence of the 49th Hunger Games was etched forever in her mind. She had also watched other Games, with an analytic attention bordering obsession. She tried to find it, the key to a victor's psyche, the key to a cure for the tormented man that fascinated her so.

"Because opening the front door is too mainstream," she whispered in the dark

A soft light illuminated the study. A familiar silken voice made her turn.

The man was leaning lazily in an armchair. "You never knocked, Mercury."

Aster was wiry, with strong angular features and a pale skin that flirted with unhealthiness. His dark hair and eyes betrayed Indian ancestors, like many of the Web. He was not handsome, with his unkempt hair and stern thin mouth often twisted in a sneer. His gaze was as intense as it was cold. It was plagued with unspoken nightmares when it was lost in the distance but it also sparkled with glee whenever he progressed with whatever experiment he had on. Through dry wit, intelligence and sheer presence, he had become the most important person in her life. He was the only one who called her Mercury, because he would call her nothing else and because she found she liked it.

"I know better," Mercury said with a smile. She let him lead her downstairs.

Her jaw dropped slightly: a copious breakfast was waiting for them in the living room. Aster had being almost friendly to her in the last years, which for him amounted to a warm declaration of friendship, but he'd never truly made her feel welcome before.

"Are you dying?" She asked, almost fearful of the answer.

The man looked down at her and smirked. "I enjoy an edible breakfast".

She flashed him a thin smile. So what if she was a poor cook, frozen foods were great. Well, she'd most certainly enjoy the meal. Aster even had fresh fruit.

She raised her eyebrows. "So, is cooking next on my list of achievements, Aster?"

He rolled his eyes, not deigning to answer.

The sudden twitch in his hand was her only warning. An hand shot towards her. She parried, ducking and bringing her foot up, she quickly flexed her knee and twisted to the side to avoid being swept off the ground. After parrying Aster's second blow she stopped thinking ahead and let her body respond for her. She'd discovered four years before that physical effort lowered his barriers and made him talk, to glimpse at the man behind the barriers. She desperately wished to hear his all too rare laughter more often and to distract him from his destructive self-loathing or better yet, heal wounds left raw since the Capitol had claimed him as tribute.

"Enough."

She let herself go limp at the soft spoken order, falling because of momentum. A strong arm steadied her. He'd been as fast as usual but had held his blows back. She wished he hadn't, she didn't want this day to be special. She didn't want to think about the reaping.

She let out a breath, pride creeping into her tone. "Your carbide compound works, by the way, six seconds."

Aster's eyes narrowed in attention. Mercury suspected it was his passion for chemistry had kept him alive after his victory.

"What protocol did you use?"

"Why didn't you build an arc yourself? My means are laughable compared to yours."

The man folded his thin hands before him. The mischievous glint to his dark eyes was almost enough to make her blush.

"Maybe for the same reason you only asked now. I wanted you to feel useful."

Mercury eyed him pensively, too accustomed to his snark to take umbrage. "Are electric arcs banned? Is it a component in the actual generator? Or is there a substance we can only come by through such welding that the Capitol doesn't want us to have?"

Aster's jaw hardened. His eyes had lost all trace of warmth and were distant as he fingered the girl's watch. She ached to hug him and childishly hope it would chase away whatever nightmares plagued his days. She schooled her expression, knowing any show of compassion might be mistaken for pity, and that showing pity would have Aster become as guarded as a marble statue.

"If I knew, Mercury, this house would be empty."

Because he'd have to leave? Because he'd be a corpse? Because he would commit suicide taking one of the Capitol's chief buildings with him? Somehow, she thought Aster too pragmatic to rebel.

His mouth twitched as he saw the Mercury wince as gruesome scenarios ran through her head.

"Experimental Protocol," he said in a stern voice, gesturing at the breakfast table.

She smiled knowingly as they sat down.

* * *

**Algor Feyn, 15, District Three**

"Up, Algor."

Algor groaned. Normal mothers just opened the door and said to get up. More insistent ones might open the shutters and maybe even the windows to get their children to get up, or they might shout. But stealing his pillow, his covers, and leaving the cold wind to freeze his toes? His mother was pure evil.

He forced himself up, spending an extra minute in front of the mirror because he didn't want to tempt fate by being the only disheveled boy at the reaping. He put on his reaping suit, it had been new the year before, it would do just fine.

He was early at the reaping. Hearing the hushed conversations coming from little groups of huddling friends. People had to relax, they had more chances of dying from a domestic accident than being reaped. Yep, it's not like he was truly in danger. He spotted Lemma first and waved. She blushed at the attention he was attracting on them but went to sit next to him, her pigtail swinging as she moved. He'd always wondered how her strawberry blond locks would feel like. They looked oddly delicate for hair.

"Hi, it's been a while," she said with a smile.

He knew that tight lipped smile. It meant _I'm happy but I could be happier_.

"I'm sorry. I'll make more time to see you, I promise," he said, feeling horrible and wishing he dared hold her hand.

"Thanks, I know you work when I'm free..."

Her face was fair like milk, it glowed pink at the slightest emotion or effort. So pretty. And she was smart. He was sure they would be working together time he was twenty.

"Still, Mr. Meyer would make a fuss but nothing too awful, I promise I'll come."

She pecked his cheek. Algor blushed faintly.

"Your dress is pretty," he stammered. _Idiot_, who cares about the dress, Lemma's beautiful in anything, why couldn't he have said that instead?

She flashed him a cute little smile. "Thanks."

He scowled when a peacekeeper signaled her to go back to the girl's section. He was still grumbling, staring at his feet when the escort's theatrical voice pierced through his sulking.

"...Algor Feyn."

_Him? But… It couldn't be!_

He felt his neighbors nudge him forward. A peacekeeper must have seen them. He felt himself dragged by the upper arm. He didn't resist. It just couldn't be.

He stared blankly at the girl tribute. He hadn't caught her name. She acted as if she had won a nice holiday trip, her face was pleasant all the way to the platform. She even greeted the escort, Dante Styrgean, making him happy as a clown.

He squeezed her hand hard as she made him lift it above their heads. He felt faint. It just couldn't be.

_Except it was._

* * *

Optima's wails tore him out of his stupor.

"You can't, you just can't go," she said, drawing each word out. "They can't make you!"

"Timmy, please be strong," he begged, rocking her body.

"But no! I won't be strong! They can't make you!"

He grabbed her arms. "Timmy, you must!" He let her go immediately, realizing it had to hurt. She slumped against him, sobs wracking her body.

"Mum..." _Do something_, Algor's eyes pleaded.

"My brilliant baby, such a bright future ahead of him. Such a good boy," the woman whispered, slowly backing away. The boy stood heartbroken as she ran back out of the room.

"She loves you, Son, she's just stunned. Hell... I love you, Algor, you hold on to that. You did great with your life. You... You just..." Modul cleared his throat. "Bah, give me a goddammed hug," he said gruffly.

So Algor did.

"You take him," Optima said after a few minutes, pulling her worn duckling plush toy out of her little handbag. She sniffed. "You have to sleep with him or Ducky'll be sad, all alone."

"Timmy, you've never slept without." Algor exclaimed, his voice tight.

"I've never slept without you in the house either. I got to be tough, Al. You said so yourself."

Algor gripped the small toy so tight he thought it might burst. Who was the older sibling again? The thin metal door creaked open. Modul dragged his daughter away as she began to scream.

_Why Timmy? Why me?_

"Do you love me, Al?" Lemma said unexpectedly, fat tears falling on her round cheeks. Algor hadn't noticed her get in.

_Yes._ "I like you lots. You're my best friend."

He couldn't say it. He couldn't tell her he loved her only now, just before dying. No matter how much he might want to kiss her then. Unless...

"But Lemma, you're also the prettiest girl I know, so, I'd love a goodbye kiss," he said, blushing furiously as he realized how lame and selfish that had to sound.

He closed his eyes in surprise as her warm lips met his. He opened his mouth slightly, unsure what to do. Their teeth clashed. Lemma giggled nervously. He joined her before mustering his courage up and hugging her tightly. He didn't know how long they just stood there. Lemma gave his cheek a noisy kiss. He hoped she'd left a lipstick mark. He wouldn't wash at all to keep it there if she had.

"So yeah...I'll see you soon." He said, hating how stupid he sounded whenever they didn't talk about safe subjects like work.

"Please come back," Lemma said, reluctantly exiting the door.

* * *

**Mercury Kernel "Fiddle", 17, District 3**

She'd donned an elegant brown leather long coat over her jeans and shirt. Reaping clothes were passed down in the orphanage; she'd been lucky to find something pretty that fit. She walked slowly towards the main square, thinking about the speech made to the recovering twelve districts sixty-three years before. It had been Finder's first trade to her, the first time she'd sung since her mother hadn't been there to accompany her voice with her own. Him eight, her ten, she'd been so impressed.

A sharp whistle made her turn. Jenny Torque, Finder's 'secret' girlfriend, was running towards her, half sliding on the slope.

"Hey, Fiddle!" Jenny said, gesturing wildly at her mid-length hair. It had been brown, now metallic red locks fell neatly around her heart shaped face.

The older girl eyed it appraisingly; it actually looked hot in a flamboyant way.

"Gorgeous, Finder's going to die to show you off. Since he's too stubborn to go back on his decision not to advertise the two of you yet, it'll be all pent up excitement. Now the real question is how much do you want to have intercourse with him?"

Jenny snorted, her cheeks flaming. "Intercourse? What are you, a spinster?" She bit her lip and looked down. "But...Yeah".

Fiddle cupped the other's chin, not one to beat around the bush. "Protect yourself, don't tell me the details and preferably don't do it in his room. The walls are thin."

"Gosh, You're so unromantic! I... I...Thanks." Jenny rushed off. She turned in the middle of the road. "And don't tell him anything if you see him first!" she shouted.

Fiddle shook her head. She didn't have the heart to tell the fourteen year old that Finder, like most in the orphanage, had experimented very early. An annoyingly protective Finder with terrible timing and the somewhat frustrating image of Aster stuck at the back of her mind were the only thing that had stopped her from seeing for herself if sex really was what some people made it out to be.

She squeezed herself among the other seventeens a mere minute before the deadline, not wishing to spend more time in the reaping's suffocating atmosphere. The escort, Dante Styrgean, had golden dragonfly wings instead of eyelashes and thin ruby braids diving to form elaborate patterns in his otherwise natural-looking hip-long straight white-hair. His thick purple robes were likewise embroidered with ruby patterns. Fiddle couldn't help but grin. The man was eyeing the audience with the fond gaze of someone contemplating his favorite aquarium. He was perfect for the job: joyous, theatrical and unawares district people were such. Fiddle was inclined to believe he hid no wounded soul. She knew of no escort ever having worked over a score of years in a non-Career district before him.

She tuned out the opening speech, concentrating on the mentors' attitudes. The middle aged Beetee seemed to be restraining Wiress, his arm around her waist. Aster stood as far as he could from Dante, his face partially hooded by a curtain of black hair.

She started as she recognized the name.

Algor Feyn. She'd seen him in the news. He was a prodigy. A wizard of mathematics, already working as a researcher. He looked much smaller, half-dragged on the stage, in a daze. He'd never exercised seriously in his life from the look of him. _Dead. _Fiddle realized her nails were digging painfully into her wrist. She'd never let herself be emotionally involved at the reapings. The Games were a lesson of history, a necessity to quell the human propensity to revolt and destroy. Frost's words, but she could appreciate the cool logic behind them, even as her heart ached for the bereaved families of the murdered children. Feyn was different though, his death would hardly benefit the Capitol: would the world have been the same had someone killed Einstein or Gauss as a boy?

"Mercury Kernel"

She blinked. _What was that?_

Kernel. It felt odd in Dante's baritone. She couldn't remember the last time she'd heard her last name spoken.

"Mercury Kernel," the escort repeated as people began to confusedly look around.

Mercury grinned nervously, no one knew who she was. Except...Her head snapped up and she froze. Aster was looking straight at her. The naked anguish in those dark eyes pierced through her heart. She felt the sudden to flee.

Then she remembered: all of Panem would see. She made her way through the crowd, keeping her face pleasant.

"Mr. Styrgean," she greeted with a deferent nod. The man replied with a full bow.

"Mercury, delighted! It's Dante, my dear." He straightened and lifted his arms in the air. "Algor and Mercury, for District Three!"

Algor's sweaty hand squeezed hers painfully as they saluted. Tension paralyzing her limbs, she didn't mind. It reminded her she was alive. _For now._

* * *

Alone in the Justice building. Mercury stared at her feet, muffled girlish shouts reaching her ears and fueling the burning in her chest. Algor's sister no doubt. _Poor little dear._

The girl stood up, surprised and touched to see Mr. Gedit hesitantly come in.

"I'm so sorry," she said, feeling awful.

The man stared at her in dismay. "You? You are sorry?" He exclaimed, his voice rising.

_He_ would be the one weeping if she died, what had he to be sorry about?

"It's so unfair you'd ruin part of your life because you had the stu..." Mercury caught herself "the misfortune to make mistakes at rebuilding..." Daemon's right index finger covered her mouth.

"Fiddle. Mercury. You listen to me..." He began, pointing the trembling finger at her.

"All of Panem is listening." Mercury said with a small smile. Even if goodbyes weren't made public, she was sure there was a camera somewhere.

Daemon paused, he took a deep breath. Mercury found her opinion of the man soar. "I'll go tell Mrs. Boolea not to fret for you. You're a survivor," he said tightly, "now, where's your token?"

Mercury blinked. She looked down, taken off guard. Daemon shook his head and pulled a silver antique watch out of his pocket. The girl's eyes grew moist.

"Sir, I..."

He cupped her chin. "I never had kids, you're not stealing it"

Mercury eyed the beautiful piece. _Tick Tock_, the countdown to her end. How could she say no? She forced herself to smile.

"You're a good man, Daemon, thank you."

She hoped he'd never wanted children. It would have been cruel that a good man be denied children in a world where people like Jack were abandoned near old cars. Jack-in-the-box. She'd miss the disabled boy's jokes.

She waved and blew a kiss upon seeing twelve-year-old Gimmick peeking through the peacekeepers as the door closed behind the elderly man. He met her eyes but didn't ask to enter. Indeed, what could he say?

Finder never came. Mercury was glad even though every fiber of her being was desperate for some comfort, for someone to lovingly lie to her and promise that she would be safe. She hoped he would clear the files from her room in case someone came snooping. She closed her eyes. For the first time in her life, she wished no-one cared about her for she feared that either way, she wasn't coming back. All their eyes flashed before her, Aster's, cornered, Wiress', terrified, Enobaria's, from the previous Games, prideful but weary. She tried to hold on to the ones that gave her hope. Young Seeder from Eleven, victor of the 31st, handsome Quark from Five of the 52nd.

_Cornered._

After what seemed like hours Dante entered the door. What had the man been doing? Did anyone have so many people to say goodbye to? She mentally scolded herself, of course they did. The little girl's screams had resounded again mere minutes before.

"We're going?" she asked, with mild eagerness. It wasn't all fake. She was looking forward to seeing the Capitol, to meeting people from other districts. But she was from the technology district, she doubted any of the others would share her intellectual fascination.

She swallowed back bitter bile scorching her throat. The other tributes would be in _such_ a friendly mood. The old man's eyes were dancing, oblivious to the storm of dark thoughts invading the orphan's azure eyes.

"Come, the train only lacks luxury compared to the meals served in there. All the children find it wonderful." He frowned slightly. "And cheer your friend up."

"I'll do my best." she promised, finding Dante's attitude oddly relaxing.

Cheer him up. Child's play. _It's not like Algor's going to die or something, you oblivious fool!_ Still, anything but letting her mind wander.

* * *

**So, a glimpse at the nicest of the non-Career district. I'm trying to make the oppression of the Capitol something they're accustomed to and take in stride. Since the tributes grow up in a dictatorship and know nothing else I don't want them to rant about it. Especially since in Three it's not bad enough to threaten their survival unlike in other districts.  
**


	5. D4: Misfortune and Professionalism

**Orvis Anchor, 15, District Four**

The tridents clashed, locking together, and despite the older boy's yanking, they remained stuck. The two burst out of the water, chuckling.

"Damn it, Orvis. You're supposed to incapacitate _me_, not my weapon," the twenty year old growled.

His companion whipped his coppery hair back and rubbed his eyes to get the salt out. "Well the next step was stealing your trident."

"Are you thick? Get me and you get my trident."

"Yeah, but then you wouldn't have seen me with two tridents," Orvis said with a grin.

"Then stop growing and work on those muscles," the other replied, sneering playfully at Orvis' lanky frame.

Orvis lowered his trident. "You've been holding back, West, what's bothering you?"

West was silent until they were both drying on the rocks. "I kissed Li at Vasco's party last night."

Orvis' jaw tightened. West had been his sister's boyfriend for four years. They had even spoken of moving in together. But Lina… Lina had been a goddess with the trident, a mermaid in the water. She'd even played the harp like one. She'd been so ambitious. They'd all gone on and on about how she was a gift from the seas. She'd volunteered, so certain she'd be back, so brilliant during the interviews. A slingshot to the head had ended her life. Her death had brought the two boys close together just like it had estranged Orvis from his parents. It had been two years.

"Do you want to kiss her again?"

West shrugged "Kiss? Definitely. Kiss _her_? I don't know. I need a girl or I'm going to lose my mind. Except any girl I go out with now I'm going to use. Li... she doesn't deserve that."

Orvis looked down, not wanting to admit he felt ill-suited to answer that. He poked holes in the sand with a finger.

"Well, she'll get over it, no? Just be fair, say you're not sure you can do it. Girls love a challenge," he said, with greater conviction than he had. West deserved to be happy even if a small part of Orvis felt the other had just cheated on Lina. He knew an even greater part of West felt like that too.

"It's not fair to her," West said.

"Why? People date and break up all the time, then they date again. You're not marrying her."

West smacked the other on the back, smiling slightly. "Point to you, Bro. I'll buy your old man a pearl for her to dampen her fury when she'll be fed up with me."

"Exactly! Works all the time." Orvis said, finding the idea brilliant. Then both their faces fell. Orvis didn't doubt his father would make a scene just for the sake of it if he saw West with a girl.

* * *

Orvis took a deep breath. He dove under again. The meager light provided by his flashlight guided him between the rows of oyster-full nets and cages. He struggled against the current, swimming four meters deep and still in the middle of the waves. The wind was rising fast. The nets were jerked in all directions, slamming in the sand and making it even harder for Orvis to see. He knew the pearl-farm by heart but between the pitch darkness and the crashing waves, he had trouble finding his way.

He had to reach the spat collectors fast or their whole crop of oyster larvae would be dragged to the high seas. He had the pumping pipe from his father's boat strapped around his back and hoped he'd salvage at least half. He was glad to see the nets resisted the waves. There were no trees nearby, he hoped the storm would abate before sharp debris could come and tear the nets apart. He didn't want to spend the next day pulling splinters out of the fifty thirty-meter-long nets.

The cages were another story. The buckles keeping them down were suffering from the strain. His free hand gestured by instinct the far side of the collectors, he didn't even bother interrupting the movement when he remembered Lina was gone. He trusted himself to overcome his grief in due time. He wouldn't let the same bitterness that had soured his parents beyond recognition to destroy him.

It was harder without his elder sister's expert help. He gulped another mouthful of air, feeling a familiar burning of salt at the back of his throat. He swam down to the long collectors removed the lantern baskets and unstrapped the pipe off his back. He pressed the pump button. Slowly, the spats where sucked into the land bound harvesting boat. Too slowly, Orvis thought, he might save only three of four of the collectors at this speed. Every five minutes he had to swim back up to the surface to get some air. His head was starting to pound. But every time he did, he had to set the wide pipe back right and lost some of the oyster larvae from all the banging on its sides. He caught with one arm one of the cages which had somehow arrived near his head. He wanted to shout in frustration, the waves were getting stronger if anything.

By four thirty AM he had saved all the spat he could, he let the pipe be automatically stored back in the boat and began to chase and secure again the floating cages. Luckily the beach was large and the sand soft, even those that went far did not encounter rocks. His teeth were chattering so hard it hurt. He realized just how far he was from the shore, his muscles dangerously stiff. He slowly swam for safety, not wasting his energy in a panicked burst of speed, forcing himself to breathe properly. He could feel the chafing wind on his pasty hair, cutting his oxygen supply.

Back on firm land he grasped his flashlight again, struggling to stay upright in the windstorm. He recognized the small path before him. He was a good mile away from where he'd aimed for. A disaster, this whole night was a disaster. He hoped the loss wouldn't be too crippling, if the wind rose much more, even the nets wouldn't resist. He jogged back to the boat despite his legs' screams of protest. He had to keep warm until he had something dry to throw on his back.

* * *

**Paloma Farsee, 18, District 4**

A loud ring pierced through her deep slumber. She grunted, three twenty AM.

"Unbelievable," she muttered, making a grab for the phone. Her handbag fell from her nightstand, spilling its contents on the floor. She cursed against the speaker.

"Uh, Paloma?" Cay didn't bother to hide his amusement, "You've got to come to the office, as in now."

"The office?" Paloma said, incredulous.

"Just look outside, I've never seen anything like it."

Paloma pushed the covers off, making an even greater mess of her short brown hair as she tried to flatten it with her hand. She opened the windows and removed the bar keeping the shutters together. She was nearly yanked out.

Shaking off the last of her sleepiness she realized the wind was howling, carving deep figures in the crashing waves of the ocean. She looked at the sky, failing to make out the cloud types in the dark. She estimated the wind at over 60 miles per hour. A windstorm? Maybe even a full blown derecho? _Could it be? _Excitement sizzled through Paloma's veins as she realized she may be witnessing such a rare phenomenon.She hastily put on her work-suit and passed a wet comb through her hair in case her boss was on the site. She decided against using her motorbike. The weather station was only a ten minute run away and debris were flying everywhere. She put on her bike helmet, grabbed a pair of shoes and exited the house.

After three miles, she stopped running and put her heels on. She removed her helmet and briskly walked inside the building. She showed her badge to the night guard and growled when the woman still signaled her to come over.

"You know me," she huffed.

"I know you pretty for work! You look a fright, at least take a minute," Delphi said handing her a brush and staring at her appalled.

Paloma glowered, who did the woman think she was? Paloma didn't want to argue though and hastily tamed her thin hair. She refused flat out to borrow the other's mascara. She had better to do.

Cay greeted her with a shout, his green eyes wide in delight. "Derecho! Come see the bo-ow!"

Paloma hurried next to the radar readings, a beautiful bow shaped signal flashed on their main screen. Paloma felt like a little girl brought four the first time in a sweet shop. The young meteorologists shared a grin.

"Wow." Paloma said. She winced as the practical consequences of the windstorm hit her. "Are any fishing boats still out?"

"No, I red-flagged the docks already. I'm more afraid for the farms to tell the truth, the waves will be reaching far into the bays," Cay said, looking out the window, awe etched on his features.

Paloma soon only had eyes for the shifting Doppler readings; the wind speed was increasing, now at 79mph. She went over to her desk and lit her computer up.

The screen cast a faint light over the pictures on the wall: Paloma receiving a gymnastics award on a large stage, boiling healing plants with her grandfather, and her favorite, a rapier in her left hand, back to back with her grinning best friend, long mahogany curls reaching the other's waist.

A hundred and eight years the records said. Over a century since a windstorm of this amplitude had struck this part of the coast. Paloma's eyes danced with excitement as she returned in front of the screen. She heard steps in the alley. She bolted to her feet when she recognized the tap of Lynn's cane on the floor. She rushed to greet the incoming bald woman.

"Lynn! You should never have gone out in this weather!"

Lynn had been her best friend since girlhood. They'd been working together for months now, sharing their passion for the skies. Lynn was thin and gaunt and walked with a cane, consequence of the heavy cancer meds she had been taking. It had been over a year since they'd sparred or gone fishing together. It broke Paloma's heart to see the spirited girl reduced to limping.

"Honey, I'm slow and ugly but my antigens are just fine. By the time we're twenty I'll outrun you again."

If only they'd discovered the tumors earlier. They'd scoffed at aches like good little Careers at the time.

"You've got eyes to make a man swoon, Lynn, and I can see your hair peaking back through." Paloma said, caressing the others' not-so-smooth anymore head.

"Yeah, if it weren't for this other beauty I'd be on the floor, Lynn." Cay said seriously, pointing at the radar readings. Lynn wagged her drawn eyebrows at him, making Paloma smole.

"Ha! Wait until I gain some weight back, my breasts will make you forget the derecho," Lynn said with a saucy smile.

Cay eyed her frankly. "I'm not forgetting this conversation, Woman."

Paloma laughed as she went to copy some of the radar scans in her personal files.

* * *

The midday sound pounded on Paloma's back. The young woman was crouched on the sturdy fake thatch of her roof, removing the filth clogging her gutter. A deep voice caused her to look down.

"And if you fell, what would you use?"

She repressed an eye-roll. _The pills she had stored in her bathroom._

"Arnica in water or comfrey as a poultice although here I'd just crush parsley since it grows around." she replied gaily, jumping onto the balcony rail then on the ground. "Do you want me to describe those plants to you, Grandfather?"

The old man before her stood hunched but his step was steady and he had lost none of his mind.

He jabbed a gnarled finger at her chest. "Do not laugh, you will teach your children, you will teach them everything I taught you." He began walking towards the front door. "Now wash those filthy hands and make me some tea, we're dining with your parents tonight."

They were? The man had probably told her poor mother only this morning.

"Sir, I have a job now, obligations," she couldn't help pointing out as she took his coat.

"The fool you, you should be training."

"I've trained for six years. There was a perfect job opportunity, I took it." Paloma said, her patience wearing thin.

"You might think the Games are a worry of the past but there is still a reaping left for you, girl. Not just any Games, Livius Ostrovski's last great games. A regular Career winning by the sword would not be a fitting exit. The masters made the mistake of telling their best students, to make them wait a year. Did the idiots hold their tongues? No. None will volunteer now."

Paloma nodded thoughtfully. This was indeed news to her, but then, she hadn't set foot in the center since the winter, nine months before.

"You would have had that job later, Paloma. You took it now because of your little friend. Real training is when you are alone." He snorted. "No. Real training would have you killing your little friend, just like in the arena. People are weak, Paloma, so many fasts friendships formed in the Capitol." His eyes grew hooded. "Doomed, every single one."

Paloma had paled. She breathed in, remembering the calming techniques she'd been taught. Had it been anyone else, she'd have slapped him for his words. How dare he talk about Lynn like a... a liability! But her grandfather was Four's oldest victor, eighteen during the fourth Games, before the word Career had even existed, back when the rich kids were slaughtered by the more savvy ones from the poorer districts. He'd survived because of his healing abilities, patching up his wounds and stabbing the last tributes with venom coated darts. He'd never truly gotten over the Games. Yet he'd been a fixture in Paloma's childhood, always pushing her to do better, always believing she could reach her goals. She respected him tremendously.

"You're right," she said, "I'm glad you're helping me with this."

His hand roughly clasped hers. "I'm glad you need me. Now I need your advice."

Paloma's widened, not sure she liked the sound of it. Thulis had never asked before.

"Your brother is a fool," he began.

"Which one?" Paloma asked with a smirk. The old man chucked dryly.

"Riviero is only a little fool." He took a deep breath. "Quartz came to me yesterday. He is afraid your father will murder him. I'm actually offended he'd think me more lenient in the matter, but I have not told your parents yet."

"Oh dear, what has he done?"

"His girl is pregnant. Fifteen years old she is... And he swears he has no idea how it came to be."

_No._ Paloma took her head in her hands. Quartz was her favorite brother. He was attentive, joyful, knew not to invade her space and always had a nice thing to say. He'd been dating Storm for less than three months.

"Right. I'll talk to him tonight, and her too as soon as I can. I... I'll see how to tell Mum and Dad."

Quartz had the tact of an icebreaker. Could he be a dad? Would Storm's parents demand to raise the child, excluding them? Would the young couple decide to abort? Paloma groaned. Thulis echoed the sentiment, looking older than his eighty years.

* * *

**Orvis Anchor, 15, District Four**

It was raining hard. He should have put on his best swimsuit instead of his best clothes. Everyone looked pathetic; shifting not to peel fabric off their skin too obviously. The guy next to him was whining about his hair. But Orvis liked it. Not the guy's hair but the rain. Ruining reaping day for everyone, good.

The escort, Lyzander something, was hilarious with his makeshift umbrella. Orvis thought he might have just looked better had the rain washed his horrid make up off. How could self-respecting guys even own make-up?

"Welcome District Four!" The escort bellowed in his microphone. He directly hurried to the reaping bowl. So much for professionalism. He worked less than a month a year, he could at least make an effort. But Orvis was happy he didn't drag it out, his stomach was already twisting in anticipation.

"Our gentleman tribute is...Orvis Anchor!"

Orvis winced but hurried to the platform. The quicker someone volunteered, the quicker he'd be dry. He was sure the other districts would be having a good laugh on seeing the footage. He looked like a wet dog. Lyzander talked again before Orvis even reached the steps.

"Any who volunteer to take his place?"

Orvis turned towards the crowd once he was standing next to the escort. He could see some of the older boys move around and whisper, a large boy in the eighteens yanked his friend back toward him, muttering something. The other snapped back angrily but still didn't speak out.

Were they serious? Come on, they'd waited their whole life for this! He'd heard Lina's friends speak about the Games with enthusiasm. They couldn't leave him standing there! What was going on? He turned around, neither Gillea or Mystral, the youngest victors of Four, looked surprised. Mystral's eyes softened as they met the Orvis' fearful gaze. Orvis turned back towards the crowd, fighting rising panic.

"And we have Lynn Zimorodek, for the ladies!" Wet Capitol Peacock announced.

Orvis felt his throat clench as he saw a bald skinny girl hobble out of the eighteens. He had to admire her blank face and her dignity as she limped towards them. Whispers, some appalled, some mocking rose in the crowd. Orvis forced himself not to show pity.

A girl suddenly burst out of the eighteens, she was tall, well in shape and looked very dynamic. Orvis frowned as he saw her storm towards the boy's sixteen's section. She knocked one down with a slap. Orvis snorted in appreciation, figuring she was a friend of the sick tribute. Her next words made his stomach fall.

"I volunteer as tribute."

Was he being horribly selfish by having hoped he'd have the other one against him?

Paloma Farsee. Wait, he knew her! She'd been one of the girls from training Lina had mentioned at home. Something about a rapier.

He was so screwed.

"I volunteer too!"

Wait, that voice was male! The shining second of hope was crushed as Orvis saw an old man striding forward. This was getting ridiculous.

"I, Thulis Codline, victor of the fourth Hunger Games, volunteer to make sure my grand-daughter's mentors know what the hell they're doing!"

_Oh_. Orvis was really, _really_ screwed.

Paloma was grinning at her grandfather. Orvis felt his lips twitch despite himself. He'd have been grinning too. He took her hand and lifted it, watching her grin fade slowly. There was something very serious about her, despite the unflattering rain.

* * *

His parents came in first, unidentifiable expressions on their faces. Orvis was suddenly furious.

"You're two years late," he said coldly.

"Orvis! What..."

"No, Mother," he said, anger coloring his voice. "I died two years ago as far as you were concerned, just the same as Lina. I've just been this piece of machinery that keeps the farm going, which needs some food and a place in the house to be stored at home. When was the last time you asked me how my day was?"

"Orvis, please, I know we've coped terribly, but..."

"No, don't you dare, Dad! Don't you dare make me feel bad and suddenly wake up when I'm about to leave. Stay like you were, as if I was dead." He took a deep breath, not wanting to alert the peacekeepers. "I became an orphan when Lina died. My parents were pretty darn good. Pity they're gone."

His face was red his fury, he refused to meet their eyes.

"Pretty darn good, and they loved you so much, Little Pearl. They'd have wanted you to succeed and come home,' his mother said, lips quivering. She dragged her husband out, tears streaming down her face, leaving a small box near the door.

Orvis ground his teeth in rage as they left. _Why?_ Why was this happening to him? He sat on the bench and let himself dissolve into sobs. Let it all out, no bottling. He'd learned the lesson with Lina. Tears were a treacherous thing, catching unawares at the worst of times if you tried to keep them in.

West was soon holding him, his face tight. "Damn this, damn this all!"

"Shag Li for me, West" Orvis said, pushing the other away and pulling himself together.

"Dude, I will not be thinking of you if she's lying naked with me!" West said, looking appalled.

Orvis guffawed, finding the reply hilarious. West thumped him on the back, wearing a small grin. Orvis only laughed louder. He went to open the little box. A black pearl shaped like a badly drawn heart rested inside it. West took hold of his wrists before he could throw it away.

"Lina might just have given you the same thing. Keep it."

Orvis clenched the token in his hand, his rekindled anger ebbing away. "Yeah," he whispered, his voice trailing off. "Thanks. See you, West"

"Right, Bro, see you too," West said awkwardly, backing away.

* * *

**Paloma Farsee, 18, District 4**

Paloma stood next to Lynn, letting the pouring rain fall freely on her skin. The waterproof tarpaulins covering the large square had been ripped off their fixtures by the wind. Lynn giggled loudly as Lyzander Glamson finally appeared, a dome-shaped plastic film attached to five rods fastened to his bouffant orange and blue coat. It looked as if some giant blood-sucking insect had elected to reside on his head.

Paloma cracked a smile, many of the girls had rivulets of make-up running down their faces, those wearing waterproof blush and face powder wore smug smiles as they watched the others scramble for tissues. She'd never heard so many people moan about their hair at the same time.

A certain Orvis Anchor was called first. Maybe it was truly because of Livius's last Games, maybe the hard cold rain just sapped their courage, but no volunteers stepped forth to take his place despite some shuffling among the older boys.

"And we have Lynn Zimorodek, for the ladies!"

Paloma's heart stopped. She absently grasped the cane she was given. Lynn bravely took small steps towards the stage, looking like a miserable wounded creature in the rain.

"Dude, this is Four..."

The loud rude comment tore her from her stupor. Paloma strode towards the little fucker and slapped him across the face, hard, raising gasps and laughter from the peanut gallery. She then caught up to Lynn, giving her back her cane before climbing on the platform, her face set.

"I volunteer as tribute," she said clearly.

Lyzander smiled in relief, most probably because his expensive shoes would soon be ruined if things didn't speed up.

"Brilliant. You are?"

"Paloma Farsee, eighteen." Her eyes met Lynn's who was still near the platform, the rain failed to conceal the other girl's tears.

"Then I bid welcome to this year's tributes. Orvis and Paloma!"

"I volunteer too!" A familiar voice called, causing everyone to turn.

Thulis was purposefully striding towards them. "I, Thulis Codline, victor of the fourth Hunger games, volunteer to make sure my grand- daughter's mentors know what the hell they're doing!"

Paloma grinned. He sure was awesome.

"Bring it on, old codger," a playful female voice called from behind her. Paloma remembered Gillea from the 56th games. She'd been a good Career but had won by sheer chance, two had ganged up on her but had failed to coordinate their assault properly. The boy from Nine had run an arrowhead through his partner as Gillea had ducked. He'd then fallen to the ground in shock as the other agonized. Paloma's grin died at the memory. She was a Career too now, those kind of decisions would be hers to make. Gillea and the slightly older Mystral shook hands with Thulis as he reached their side.

Paloma stared at the marble ground, knowing how her family had to feel. Her volunteering basically screamed _Lynn comes first_. She hadn't meant it like that, but she understood why they would see it that way.

* * *

"Sir Grandpa was right," Riviero said, a scowl twisting his features. The six year old had buried himself in Paloma's arms. "Lynn is the reason you make bad choices!"

"Oi! Have you ever seen Paloma with a rapier? The others will beg for mercy before she even takes it out," Quartz said, by far the most composed of the five.

Paloma's father intervened before the tense girl could reply.

"Every single person you love is a weakness. There are no presents made in life, but the weakness is made up tenfold by the strength. Lynn made you into the wonderful woman you are and I'll forever owe her for that."

Paloma's eyes began to shimmer. Lord, she was a professional now. She'd left the house at sixteen, why did she react like such a child?

"My turn," Her mother simply said, prying Riviero away and pulling her only daughter close, wordlessly drawing patterns on her back with her fingers.

They stayed there, just holding each other for a few minutes.

Paloma finally turned to her sixteen year old brother. "Make a decision with Storm, one you'll admit to and for which you'll be able to take responsibility for. You make a man's mistakes, you must solve them like a man. Make me proud, all right, Quartz?"

"I will," he said, as serious as she'd ever seen him.

"Great, now out, I need a few minutes with Lynn."

"No," Riviero shouted, "I hate her, I won't let you! I..." his mother lifted him up, covering his mouth with her hand. Paloma grabbed his little arm, her eyes frightening by their intensity.

"Enough! Riviero, you are the loveliest little boy I know. I love you terribly but I love Lynn too, not more but a lot too," she stressed "I'll be very sad if you hate her. She did nothing wrong, I want you to ask her to tell you stories about me, okay?"

Riviero sniffed loudly but he nodded.

Lynn came in, her face pale and her eyes red. "I waited before going to the doctor. I waited until I was nearly fit for the crows, but it was no matter up to now, just a lesson of life. I will recover fully in time. Paloma, I..."

"Shh," Paloma said, squeezing her gently. "I need you do one thing for me while I'm away."

"Anything," Lynn chuckled, covering up her quivering voice.

"Face my family. Watch the Games with them and talk to them about me. It's the odds, you hurting won't help me."

Lynn bit her lip and took an old picture out of her pocket; it was a copy of the one she had in her office, the one of them both, two years before, clutching their fish in the shallow waters of the lagoon.

"I'll just borrow yours for a while."

"Lynn..."

"I will, Paloma, of course I will. Just win."

"Of course."

Nothing more was said but peacekeepers had to pry them apart.

* * *

**Edit: I have only the mentors on stage with the escort (otherwise in Career districts there would be 7-13 victors crowding it), so usually only the two youngest victors unless another victor insists on coming too. Mostly they won't because getting the Capitol's attention is risky.  
**

**So yeah, no Mags, sorry. But I'm writing this mind-blowing story about her: Checkmate, so you're quite welcome to read it xD  
**


	6. District 5: Aristocrat and Aristocats

**District Five here we go!**

* * *

**Victor Gleeb, 18, District Five**

Victor danced to the rousing violin music, dashing in his well-tailored coat. His mother was looking proudly up at him in his arms, as beautiful as always in her shimmering dark-green dress. The Corporate Night was held thrice a year and had evolved from a select business party to a district-wide cocktail regrouping all the people of wealth and influence from Five. Close to two hundred guests paraded in the glittering hall. Victor's father was CEO of Genesis, the greatest firm dealing in hydroelectric power. The man had begged off, leaving his wife, who was also his Head of Human Resources, to make any deals in his place. Moxie Gleeb could make workers on strike apologize for stirring trouble and other firms sign disadvantageous contracts while believing they had just ripped Genesis off. She was Victor's hero.

Victor had started appearing at small functions with his mother at sixteen, progressively groomed to join the elite of Five.

"See the man over there?" Moxie whispered, spinning them around so he could glimpse a man in a red penguin suit.

The cut was classic if a bit old-fashioned, the color not so.

"Capitolite?"

"Of course," Moxie said, "a child could see that. Tell me more."

Victor stiffened at the gentle rebuke. He caught another glimpse of the man.

"He's in a suit. It seems to say he wants to blend in. Except it's red, so unless he's a fool, he's done it on purpose." Victor stood taller as his mother gave him a small encouraging smile. "He doesn't want to blend in at all. He just wants to show how courteous he is by adopting our style. He's barely touching the buffet, it's mouthwatering. He's making a point. He's inferring that we're not up to par despite all our efforts."

"And does that make you angry?" The woman said, her crystal earrings reflecting the artificial lights.

"Anger has no place in business."

"Indeed. Does it, Victor?"

"No, Mother." The young man's eyes glinted. "They'll all be bending over to please him. When they'll be tired of dealing with him, we'll offer a sympathetic shoulder for them to complain on. They'll be quite happy to chat."

"Good, you're learning. Now how do you find the music? The room?"

"It's the best I've ever heard and the interior designer should be commended," Victor said truthfully.

"It is poor compared to Capitol standards. What does that teach you?"

"Just because something is the best you know doesn't mean better doesn't exist?" Victor guessed.

Moxie smiled. "Never deal with a Capitolite in such a setting, it would make you look baseborn. Choose a setting they are unfamiliar with: make them visit one of our factories or walk along a dam. Avoid cocktails, avoid meals, and flee wine like the plague."

Victor eyes narrowed as he processed the information. It was so obvious now that she had said it.

* * *

The next day found Victor jogging up to a small clandestine training center. It was away from everything, a seven mile walk away from his house. His wolf dog, Whitefang, ran by his side.

He was precisely on time. He attached Whitefang to a nearby tree and changed.

Reputation was paramount in the circles he would work in. Bulky young men with calloused hands were not sophisticated; martial arts, on the other hand were considered nobler. They also produced practitioners with smooth hands and toned bodies. People usually felt safer by learning swords, especially when the people facing them in the Games would also have swords. Victor couldn't understand how any would hope to become more proficient at them than Career tributes, they had the best instructors and equipment. Of course one could swing a sword properly enough after a year of training, becoming lethal through martial arts took much more effort.

"If you would be kind enough to join us, Joanne, Piezo."

The instructor, a sinewy man barely older than them, hadn't even lifted his eyes to see who the stragglers were. The fraternal twins whispered their customary apology and took their places at Victor's side.

"What's your excuse this time?" the boy said with a playful haughty expression.

Joanne winked. "We like to be waited upon."

Victor arched an eyebrow. Piezo flashed him a small smile, signifying nothing was wrong.

The twins were smart and dedicated. They hadn't been as lucky as Victor. They came from a modest family of technicians working in the fission plants, but Victor would bet that the three of them would be in the same circles by the time they all were thirty. He liked their unassuming ways, they found his snobbish tendencies endearing. He was glad his mother approved of their friendship.

"Two against one today. I don't want the paired teams to use any technique they didn't know by the time they were thirteen. The idea is to overwhelm your lone opponent. Lone opponent, you're allowed any move, get them down," the instructor said, meeting all of their gazes as he walked in the room. "You all keep getting up unless you would've been rendered at least unconscious in a real fight."

Victor soon realized that the twins using only basic moves didn't erase their years of acquired reflexes or their uncanny ability to coordinate perfectly. He struggled not to keep a purely defensive stance. Finally, Joanne got cocky and went for a head kick while her brother was ducking away from Victor's attempted grab. He caught her foot, yanked it towards him and twisted it, forcing her to protect her head as she lost her balance. Piezo had to leap aside to avoid stepping on her, leaving Victor enough time to press his foot to her throat, miming a crushing blow to her windpipe.

His lips twitched as he saw Piezo's disgruntled expression.

A foot slammed against his knee. He rolled to the side, grunting in surprise. Piezo jumped on him and had his elbow firmly around his throat before he had retrieved his balance.

"You killed my sister you bastard," he shouted in his ear, pretending to strangle him.

The instructor was standing where Victor had been standing. "Victor, what kind of guard was that?" The man said.

Piezo had been too far to target his knees and that position would have granted him more power were Piezo to come closer, Victor would have liked to reply. He hadn't expected the instructor to attack him.

"No answer? Who says no one will jump up from behind you, Pretty Boy? be alert!"

Victor was very alert, no one other than their teacher ever caught him unawares. The man was supposed to be sometimes behind him, that was why Victor paid less attention. His feelings must've shown.

"You think no ally would ever try to stab you in the back, Victor Gleeb? Surely you are acquainted with the practice."

Victor grit his teeth at the jibe. As if poorer people were more trustworthy than the rich. They just had less power, less people who relied on their word. But the ally bit made him pause.

"I had not thought of it, Sir. It was foolish, thank you for the lesson," he said.

The man had already moved on to another trio.

"Up. All of you. Now start again."

* * *

**Skye Blip "Mouse", 17, District Five**

The street lights gave a diffuse glow to the solar panels attached to almost every roof in Five. The girl quietly jumped from a house to the other, polishing the panels and checking the converters. She was tiny, her hunched frame and mop of hastily cropped brown hair only enhancing her youthful appearance.

She was Mouse, working for the mayor like her younger brothers, doing the basic maintenance in the town. Lanky and heavier, Peppo and the handsomer O'Malley could not step on the panels without risking to crack them. They made sure the wind turbines didn't get slowed or jammed.

They all reported to an elderly man, who they'd dubbed Edgar short after he'd hired Hope's quick-witted eight year olds to clean out the biomass tanks. He was shameless when it came to exploiting the desperate. The triplets had been thrilled, finding the night job an exciting adventure, so they'd introduced themselves to the rest of the young workers as Toulouse, Marie and Berlioz. A bunch of kittens from an old movie they'd seen once.

So now the night crew had become the Aristocats, which was still funny, despite its growing old and the kids now more subdued as the early excitement had passed. Mouse had just put her foot down at being called Roquefort. Sure the male mouse was cute but she was boyish enough already that she didn't need the reminder, or the cheese name.

Sometimes an insomniac citizen would hear her light steps and call her from a window, looking for a short chat. Mouse didn't mind as long as she wasn't delayed too much, she had few occasions to speak to people otherwise.

"Mouse!" The whisper made her turn. She waved at Scat Cat and his girl, Gabble, before scrambling down to see them.

"Emergency?" she asked.

The round-cheeked boy beamed. "Yeah, it's past midnight!"

"And?"

Gabble grasped her shoulders, motherly with everyone despite being scarcely fourteen. "Happy birthday, Honey," she said, looking proud.

Oh yeah. Seventeen. Mouse had completely forgotten. She snorted. No wonder her mother had wanted Mouse to wake her up when she came home after work.

"Right," she chuckled. "Cool of you two to show up."

"Bah, you know us, the real work's in the winter. The mayor caught us hanging around so he got us to clean tagged buildings. We're taking a break," Scat Cat said with a toothy smile.

"And we've sneaked your present into your house. You'll see in the morning."

"Aww, just tell me," Mouse begged.

"It's a motherloving huge chunk of delicious cheese, like twenty pounds of the stuff. It's Adrian, he saw us cleaning yesternight and was like 'Blimey! I need my restaurant pristine, do my facade first, puh-lease!' ".

The three burst into quiet laughter. Adrian was so over-the-top posh with his curled up mustache and fancy wig that he was likable for it. His restaurant had fancy tables and great food, everyone saved up to go there on special occasions.

"I'm so hungry already. Thank you," Mouse gushed, imagining her brothers' delighted faces upon seeing it. They were bottomless wells those ones.

"Keep it in the family. We'll enjoy your looks of well-fed satisfaction, Mousey," Gabble said, looking quite smug.

* * *

It was eight PM when Mouse went down stairs for breakfast the next day.

"Hi, Mum," Mouse said. Her mother poured her a glass of milk, wearing a tired smile. Her work blouse was folded neatly on the side of the table.

"I suppose your brothers are still snoring?"

"Duh, remember what I was like in my early teens? Would've slept all day long..."

She gulped the milk down. "So?" Mouse then asked, concerned. The sun-cell factory her mother worked long hours in was reconverting. She knew the names of people getting the sack had been given today.

Melody sighed deeply. "Could've been worse. They got rid of me but secured me a replacement job. Others weren't so lucky. Val must've put a word in..."

"She's a good friend," Mouse said, hugging her mother. "What did they give you?"

"The offshore algae plantations, starting two weeks from now. They're even paying me until I start again."

Mouse's face fell. "But... You'll be sleeping in a cabin. When can you go home?"

"It's part time, so three days a week."

Mouse let out a breath, relieved. The housing boats for the plantation workers weren't healthy, even if the pay was as decent as you got for low qualified jobs. Part time though would see the money cut to about 70% of what their mother made now. Mouse took the time to make the math.

"It's okay. Between the four of us. We already had some money stored for rainy days. We shouldn't have to dig into it even if we'll be saving less."

"I don't want you climbing roofs more than necessary, little mouse," Melody said tightly.

"Mum, Dad fell from a dam. I could hypothetically fall but I won't break my neck. We make more than the bone medicine costs if it comes to that. I'm Edgar's most efficient. He won't do more than complain if I skip a few nights to recover."

It was a stern thing to say but it bore reminding. She knew her mother's fears had to be squashed early, or the bad periods started, and those were too hard for Mouse to want living through again. She didn't want to be the woman of the house.

"Yes, yes... Wait until you have kids of your own. Still no boy in sight?"

"Mum," Mouse said, blushing slightly. She was awfully timid around strangers.

"At least get one in sight. You know, for practice."

"Stop teasing me, Mum," Mouse grumbled.

* * *

**Victor Gleeb, 18, District Five**

"Here you go, I'll find somewhere to park."

"Thanks for the ride, Mr. Gleeb."

Victor and the twins jumped out of the car, glad they wouldn't have had to share the crowded buses bringing whole families in. And Five was the second smallest district after Three. Victor couldn't imagine how people did it in places like Eleven, when the reaping happened to be at the other end of the district.

"Mum may not be as much of a lady as yours but she'll be fuming when she arrives."

"She's the one insisting to wear stilettos despite having to stand for three hours in the bus to get here. You'd think she was the one risking being reaped," Piezo said, shaking his head slightly.

"I just hope my parents will find a parking spot before the reaping is over, they don't seem to have planned for more than a dozen cars."

"Since when is our comfort a priority?" Joanne scoffed.

_Good point._

Angel Incantesimo quietly waited on the platform for them to settle down. Her face was painted silver and she had little sapphires all around her eyes and ears, a wrought platinum crown keeping her elaborate azure wig from falling down. Victor had seen three escorts in his young life, and Angel was by far the most detached. He wondered if they chose them heartless on purpose.

"Good morning, dear children," she said in her dreamy voice, "I am Angel Incantesimo, your escort, and I trust you are looking as much forward to these Sixty-Third annual Hunger Games than I am. May the odds ever be with you."

She glided like a swan towards the boy's ball. "Victor Gleeb."

Victor froze. A scream cut the air.

_Ah, his mother had found a parking spot then._

He began to walk towards the stage, feeling angrier with every step and struggling to look proud instead.

"Breathe," Angel said, the microphone down by her side.

He wouldn't strike a woman. He breathed in.

"Now, girls. Skye. Skye Blip."

Victor didn't see anyone come forth. He realized from the commotion in the seventeens' that the girl had fainted. He didn't blame her. _Accursed odds!_ He was trapped. And he was going to kill his way out. Victor shuddered, the world seemed suddenly much darker. He could see all the assembled teens, all in their best clothes, parked like chickens in their pens. It was so degrading. Why did anyone even submit to that? He breathed in again, not wanting a peacekeeper to knock him out for his temper, not when he had goodbyes to make.

The girl bolted when she woke up, scrambling away from everyone and onto the stage. Agile as an alley cat, that one. Her eyes were wide and terrified. She lowered them immediately before he could get a better look at her face.

"Skye and Victor, the odds' gift from District Five" Angel said pleasantly, putting Skye's hand in his.

_She's nuts, their freaking escort. Nuts!_

* * *

"Mom..."

Victor was terrified. He'd never seen his mother anything than utterly composed. She was indestructible, always perfect in every way, one of the most influential women in Five. She was sobbing in his arms. Huge, undignified sobs that threatened to soon wrack his body if she didn't stop.

His father was standing at the other end of the room, his back to Victor. "How much money does it take to buy body armor and enough food and water for ten days in the Games, you think?"

Victor would never have recognized the shaking, almost desperate, voice had his father not been the only man in the room.

"Can district citizens be sponsors," he asked, daring himself to hope.

"Oh, I don't give a damn, we will be," Moxie said, a terrifying cast to her face.

Victor hugged her tightly. "You'll convince them to let you, I know you will, Mum."

"If..." he began. "If I..."

"Don't you dare! We will commit suicide after having killed your friends in a most atrocious way, sold the firm to the person you despise the most and Whitefang to a zoophile sadist!"

Victor stared at his mother in shock, his head nodding of its own accord. "I have no intention to take the easy way out," he finally said, meaning every word.

"Yes, kill a few people, Son, we'll never be happier," Gideon Gleeb said, turning back around, his small smile forced.

Victor's lips twitched despite himself at the two adults' drama. He'd need drama. The Capitol loved it.

"I'll miss you," he whispered in his mother's hair. "Gimme a hug, Dad," he added.

Victor hated the look in the man's eyes. _I feel helpless_ it said. His father was a powerful man who'd never had the tables turned on him. And Gideon felt helpless. Victor felt a new surge of self-confidence. He didn't feel helpless. He wasn't stupid, he knew the odds, but he would beat them. He had to.

"I'll win," he promised.

Moxie wrapped her rust colored silk scarf around his hand.

"If you ruin it beyond repair, I'll buy another one," she said, patting his cheek lightly. Her makeup was perfect despite the previous tears.

* * *

**Skye Blip "Mouse", 17, District Five**

The sun was high in the sky, it made her eyes burn despite her sunglasses. She hated feeling exposed and hated large crowds even more. She had no space to move. She stood at the very edge of the seventeens' section, knowing no girls that age by more than sight. And there was so much noise. People moving and talking everywhere. She felt like shielding her ears except it was forbidden, a sign of defiance on reaping day according to the people that had written the rulebook. Mouse didn't even try to understand them. For them the Games were the best period of the year.

A boy was called by the pretty escort. Mouse thought there was something sad about the woman. She had a dreamy voice yet she was not dreamy at all. She didn't look at the clouds or say anything not focused on the Games. The eighteen year old tribute was handsome, toned but not bulky, and had a polished air to him. Not at all the kind of boy she saw in town. He looked like he'd studied well past his primary years. Mouse realized she had both feet out of her section's outer border and forced herself to step back closer to the other girls before she got into trouble.

"Skye... Skye Blip."

The name registered. She gasped for air. The world went black.

Someone was holding her shoulders. Her eyes flew open as she scrambled away. Electric blue eyes met hers. She realized she was on the platform, next to the prim boy. She focused on her feet, feeling her mind reel. She wouldn't faint a second time. A hand was slid into hers. She guessed she'd have to thank the escort for not making it harder than it could have been.

* * *

They were all there, in a circle, the Aristocats and her mother. Quiet, all staring at her. She met their gazes in turn, memorizing their faces, one after the other.

Gabble was weeping silently, so were Toulouse and Marie. The others just looked under shock. She linked hands with her mother and youngest brother, not wanting to break the spell. They couldn't speak, it would be awful. Fifteen year old O'Malley pushed her hair away from her face and kept it back using her sunglasses. Making them rest on top of her head. Keep them, you'll need them, his hands said.

Eugene, Eugene and Vivian. Her brothers' real names felt foreign to her mind, they hadn't used them in ages. She'd probably never see those laughing hazel eyes again.

Mouse wished the silence would never end.

"Time's... Whoa!" The peacekeeper speaking through the ajar door recoiled on seeing the silent group, as if he'd stumbled upon a dark ritual or something.

Scat Cat sniggered at his shocked expression, soon followed by over half the cats. Melody bent over to kiss her daughter's forehead before shaking her head at them. She was soon left alone with the peacekeeper towering over her four feet ten. She'd never have pictured her goodbyes like this.


	7. District 6: Dreams and Profanity

**Warning: General cursing from the girl here. Nothing you haven't heard before if you are of age to read T rated fiction. I've just heard so many people talking like this, I wanted to portray one among my tributes. Think about is as an experiment^^  
**

* * *

**Drake Stanhope, 15, District Six**

They were all going to the work rooms. Cramped little places with just enough light to be able to read the tiny print of their handouts. The students were speaking fast, asking questions about the last lecture, hoping the person next to them would know, hoping that, despite the competition, their friends would be loyal enough to give them the right answer.

Drake had to get out.

"Drake, no!" Ether said as he made his way out of the pack of students. "It's the third time this week, you need to study!"

Drake's dark brown eyes met his former best friend's. He couldn't see their color, huge purple bags hid them in deep shadows.

He looked away. "I can't, Ether, I'm not made for this."

Ether grabbed his shoulder. Drake almost smiled. The other was wasting precious energy for his sake.

"Drake, no exam, no Med school. No med school and you'll never have a chance at life."

Drake shook his head in sadness. "No. Even with the exam it's no life. You just don't want to see it. Look at you all, you're like old men already."

"Leave that idiot alone, that's one less to worry about, Ether," Willow said, pulling the boy away. Ether didn't fight back.

Former best friend. Ether had neither the time, nor the energy to spare for friendship anymore. Very few had. Drake had to get out. He rushed out of the school, away from the hospitals, away from anything remotely sterilized. He only stopped when he began to raise dust, the well paved roads giving way to beaten earth trails. His sides were aching but he didn't care. There the factories began. Trains and ships, cars and hovercrafts. They would then be sent to Three where the more advanced functions would be fitted in.

His parents had named him Drake because it sounded powerful. He just wanted real wings to get out of there.

"Boy, do you ever learn?" Fusel sighed as the boy poked his head in the big garage.

"Learn? This is paradise!" Drake said with a huge grin.

Fusel sold spare parts, any part. The man knew what they were for and how to set them right. Him and his wife worked day and night, making enough of a living to send his two boys to Med School. The irony always made Drake sad: with that money, Fusel and Pippa could've supported two more children in a bigger house.

"You're never telling your parents are you?"

Drake looked down, more out of manner than of embarrassment."I never promised anything."

"You're three months away from your final exam, Drake. I've seen you poking your head where it shouldn't have been even before you started crowding my shop. Why throw it all away?"

Drake stared, a genuine laugh escaped his lips.

"It's not what it's made out to be, you know. My parents are doctors. I hardly ever see them and they always talk about work and working. My sister got the exam, I haven't taken a walk with her in four years. My brother didn't get it but he did well enough to get in drug making. He's a morphling now. He paints shapes his imaginary lover Lupa whispers in his ear," Drake said, grossed out. "I'm the only one who laughs, the only one who still dreams and they call _me_ an idiot," he added, disbelief lacing his voice. "Here you talk and laugh with your wife. Its hard work. Your clothes are cheaper, your food tastes off but you're still _alive_!" Drake had to make the man understand. "I want to work for you. I'll work so hard and I'll never complain. I'll see people and maybe one day I'll pilot a Hovercraft. At least I might meet a pilot here. At least you don't do morphling."

"Oh you'll meet pilots alright." Fusel said, looking tired all of a sudden.

Drake looked down, feeling bad for saying such things to a man that had worked so hard to send his kids to Med School. "You know, maybe Mum's right and I'm not right in the head. They all keep working at Med School, no matter how tough it gets. It's just me. But I need this."

_This tiny taste of freedom. Touching something that will fly._

"Come, Boy," Fusel said, a small smile creasing his weathered face.

Drake grinned and let out a whoop of joy.

* * *

Drake was curled up next to the heating pipes of the Hovercraft launching bay. The pilots came here for their exams. He wondered how many were actually from Six. Many were peacekeepers but a fair few were not. Drake couldn't tear his eyes away from the machines. He'd flown once and it had become an obsession.

"Who's there?" a voice asked sharply. It was the right voice.

He'd spent the whole day between the walls of the modern building. Getting in was always easier than getting out. He didn't know if it was on purpose: to make thieves confident and then spring on them, or if it was just chance. His mother would be shaking her head now, saying getting caught showed how hopeless he was. Except he wasn't. He'd chosen the person who'd find him. He'd grown good at seeing who would be good help.

"I'm coming out, I'm not armed or anything," he said, making sure his hands were the first thing visible.

He'd learned long ago that no-one looked at old camera footage unless the Capitol investigated something, and whoever did surveillance cared little about who walked the corridors. All the stuff stored there had alarm-raising tracking chips on them anyway. The woman pilot was tall, strong-looking with a stern bun and a perfectly ironed uniform. Only she was over forty so she couldn't be a new recruit trying to impress her bosses by being very professional. Drake had found that people who tried too hard to look like something were often very different than what they appeared.

Her eyes almost popped from her head as she saw him. "Child! Are you out of your mind? Get out, come."

She had him by the scruff of the neck. She was leading him outside. Drake had to fight a grin.

"Shirt off," she said crisply once they were outside.

That was not part of the plan. But she had his arm held tight and a phone in her vest. He complied. He heard her sigh as she examined his scarred back.

"Just ten old lashes? You are either very good or have just today forgotten your lessons."

"Lesson," Drake corrected without thinking.

The woman frowned. The maximum penalty for a child in Five was seven lashes.

"What happened?"

Drake should have shut up, but he was way too proud of his accomplishment. "I was nine. I went on a Hovercraft. It was near the border when they found me."

He'd seen that day that the world was a bigger place than what he'd ever imagined. A place he wanted to see. He knew every street in the city already, every path the hunters took to get fresh supplies for the DNA-splicing labs. He felt caged, he wanted out.

"Dear God," the woman whispered, her horror completely at odds with Drake's wistful smile.

"You are indecently lucky to be alive. Such foolishness..." She had no words.

"I know. I'm not doing it again, ever, not illegally. I just wish I could fly someplace better."

Her lips twitched. "Don't let dreams steal your life. I'm from Two, I'm happier here."

Drake's jaw dropped. _Two_? But that was like the best place in the whole world after the Capitol!

"Now get out of my sight, Chipmunk, I've got work to do."

She closed the _personnel only_ door in his face.

He started walking back home, not quite dragging his feet. Why would she leave Two? It was awfully confusing. Maybe he'd just keep flying and flying then, all around the world.

* * *

**Hawk Dorkas, 18, District 6.**

"Still reading those books, Doc?"

"It's lab assistant, nothing like doctor, and you know I've got finals in a week."

"Whatever, Doctor, want me to agonize in front of you for practice?"

He puffed up like a crowing cock when she called him Doctor so she pretended she'd never bothered to learn the difference between the two. She cussed less in front of him, maybe it sounded less cool with someone as fucking smart as Towler. She'd no idea why the nerd liked her, with all the loose bimbos from medical school begging to get laid. But he did, and she'd found herself liking him right back. He couldn't throw a punch to save his life, but as he'd once joked: every relationship needs a girl in it. Except he was no pussy, working day and night for his smart job.

"Paint smell bothers you?" she said.

"Nah."

She had stuff both at her place and his, painting was the one thing that really got her to relax, even more than the occasional morphling drag.

"Why don't you do my back, Baby?" Towler said.

"Sure, won't that ruin you focus?"

"Nah," he said, flashing her a grin as he took his shirt off.

Hawk eyed him critically. Yup, she had some killer ideas. She liked her body art waterproof, the remover cost a bleeding arm but she'd probably use the money for morphling or other dangerous crap otherwise. She had the brains of a lab rat sometimes. She began to mix the colors.

When Hawk returned home from the railway station her father was in a bathrobe. Man lived in his bathrobe like some senile old fart outside the gym center he worked in. She went to grab a bite.

"You finished at six, why aren't you back 'till freaking ten?"

Let it go already, she was fucking eighteen.

"Chill, I got held up," Hawk said.

"How? By whom?"

Now he was asking for serious trouble.

She smirked. "Towler, against the wall, pretty fucking hard too."

A murderous expression crossed the burly man's face. Hawk dodged the low uppercut and squared a punch at his chest. He groaned as he parried, Hawk hoped it hurt like hell. She was sweating like a pig when she finally wrestled him to the floor. After counting to ten in a smug tone, she let him get up.

He chuckled. "Soon, I'll have to stop holding back."

"You haven't held back nothing in two years, Dad. It's just plain old age," Hawk shot back, earning herself a smack on the arm.

"You're the only thing that stands between me and that little fuck, don't force yourself to protect him, Hawk," he said, wiping his head with his sleeve.

"Who ever forced me to do a fucking thing, Dad?"

"No harm in checking." He grinned, giving her shoulder a squeeze. "There are some biscuits in my room."

Hawk perked up and went to get the box.

"And wash up! You stink!"

And whose fucking fault was that?

* * *

**Drake Stanhope, 15, District Six**

He hated Reaping Day.

He took as much time as he could to dress and wash. His fat chestnut curls were almost shining when he was through. He'd even taken the few hair he had on his shoulders off with tweezers. It still stung.

On Reaping Day he had to stay with his parents the whole morning since physical attendance was mandatory for anyone who had a child or sibling at risk. And that was almost worse than the reapings themselves.

"You've been skipping class again," his mother said. She sounded disappointed, as always.

"I've found a job. One I like. You won't need to spend money on me anymore, Mum."

"But why, Drake? Being a biologist or a doctor is the best you can hope for. We've done everything we could to ensure you a future."

"Mum, when is the last time you smiled? When is the last time Fibula laughed?" Drake challenged, knowing she didn't want to understand.

"Drake, I know you are young and things like a secure job don't matter to you and I know it's very hard at first but…"

The boy tuned her out. He knew his brother was close. He could smell the morphling. He sometimes wondered why his parents had never touched the stuff but he feared the answer would just make him sad. He shut his eyes. He didn't want to see Masseter. He wanted to remember his big brother, the tall smart boy who'd told him wild stories, not this… _mutt_.

His mother had taken Drake to an analyst a few times, probably hoping he had some rare mental disease. Unfortunately what he had couldn't be cured. Well… His father had tried slipping him some drugs one evening. It was the first time he'd ever heard his sister shout. The man had never tried again. Fibula stood between him and the rest of the family during the whole bus ride, not saying a word. She was the one who'd taught him to watch, really watch, people all those years before. He knew she still paid attention. But she looked so exhausted all the time.

The Capitol woman had a song name, Carol. Her voice was a weird little song itself. He imagined a whole choir of Carols, fluffy pink long gloves and all. He smothered a snicker.

"Care to share the joke?" a guy said next to him. He sounded cocky. He looked scared.

"Picture twenty escorts like her, clucking in a chicken pen," Drake whispered.

The boy's lips twitched. Drake started to count the necklaces the woman was wearing, trying to make sense of the colored tangle.

"This year's lucky draw is… Drake Stanhope."

Drake stopped counting. His eyes were now focused on the giant screens showing the crest of the Capitol.

_The Capitol, he was going to see the Capitol_.

The words ran over and over in his head as he walked up to the escort, the mirror-like scales on her dress making his eyes sting. He gazed back at the crowd without seeing them. Him, going to the Capitol. _Wow_.

A tough, angry-looking woman, with big muscles, short spiky hair and lots of rings all over her face and ears was soon standing next to him.

"Hi," he heard himself say. But he just couldn't bring himself to focus.

_The Capitol_.

* * *

"You know there's something called the Hunger Games at the end of your little vacation, Drake," Fibula said, when he barely reacted at her entering the little room they'd put him in.

"Right. Yeah…."

The Hunger Games. It was beginning to sink in. The Capitol. His eyes were full of stars.

"Drake," Fibula said sternly.

"They won't come, the others. Not enough energy to deal with this, emotionally. They kept Masseter back too, he doesn't need extra reasons to smoke," he said in a little voice.

For some reason he was okay with that. He knew his parents genuinely cared for him just as he did for them. He also knew they had been living in different words for too long.

"I'm sorry. I think this whole life programs us to become selfish shells. I'm trying to see the cracks, Drake, and there are plenty actually," his sister said in her slow, tired tones. "Some people in my lab are nice, genuinely non-morphling nice. Sometimes cheerful too. Mum and Dad have it bad. I'll learn to be like those people, I swear."

Drake kissed her cheek, clasping her hands. "That's great! You should have friends, sis, everyone should."

He really wanted friends again. Ether had put up with him the longest but he'd finally gone, like all the others. Drake had been a great distraction, one they could no longer afford. Med School had killed them all.

"Yeah... Listen Drake, just… be happy, until the end. Make friends, avoid bad things and yeah… There's no point of living on if you sink too far. I'd miss you anyway and you'd just hate yourself forever."

Drake paled. His dreams of the Capitol evaporating. She was telling him to die?

Fibula tweaked his nose, her eyes soft. "Hey, if you feel up to it, win. I'd rather have you back."

"That'd be peachy all right," Pippa said, arm entwined in Fusel's.

"Figured you might want a pat on the back, Son," Fusel said with a tight smile, doing just that.

"And we've got you this," his wife added, handing him a little sphere with a trembling hand.

Drake steadied her hand and took the token. His eyes widened when he remembered what it was for. A hover magnet. They weren't fully solid, they glued themselves to one another and created a magnetic fields big enough to make hovercrafts soar fifty feet off the ground.

"That much closer to flying," Fusel said, tousling his hair.

Drake was grinning from ear to ear despite the tears in his eyes. "Thank you!" He said, hugging them both. "Thank you for everything, for taking me seriously."

"Don't ever stop laughing, Drake," Fibula whispered, her tone ever so sad.

"Never ever," Drake promised, his eyes distant once more as he remembered the glimpse of far away Capitol towers he'd caught six years before.

* * *

**Hawk Dorkas, 18, District 6**

Hawk huffed. She'd completely forgotten about reaping clothes. Her stuff was all as good as junk. She didn't give a flying fuck, her painted tattoos and rings were forth a fuckton of sparkling pussy dresses.

She heard a knock on the door.

"What?"

"Your mother sent those over," her father said, sounding sour.

Hawk grabbed the shirt and large pants. Black. With a wicked printed leopard head on the shirt.

"She sent them by mail? She lives an measly hour away."

Not that her father would have let her mum in, but she didn't want the man to go on a rant about his ex-wife so she didn't show the clothes were a fucking blessing.

He shrugged. "Don't come out for another hour."

"Which one are you boning this time?" Hawk half-joked.

"None you know." He smirked, shutting the door.

Damn. She'd liked Chapel. Pity the kind nurse had made a major fail, talking about marriage and spawning kids so soon. She hoped her father would get his head out of his ass and beg her to come back. Chapel was a saint.

Hawk crossed her thick painted arms, giving the evil eye to anyone who stared. No bleeding manners nowhere. Just because she painted didn't mean she was one of those pathetic dopy addicts. There was hardly any space to breathe.

"Good day, district six, I'm Carol Flutter-Chime, I welcome you to the opening of the Sixty-Third..."

Hawk stopped listening. It was the same shit every year. That high-strung bitch talked slowly in that ridiculous voice of hers, as if they were all fucking retarded. Maybe that's how people had to talk to each other in the Capitol to be understood. It would make some serious sense. She had to avert her eyes away from the giant screen less the shine from the escorts' dress make her go blind. Did she have freaking light bulbs in the folds?

The boy was fifteen, not tall but pretty fit looking, still a boy though. Cutish in his way. Looking more bewildered than upset. Anyhow, his name redefined awesome. _Drake._ Why couldn't she have been called Dragon?

" ... Hawk Dorkas will be joining us this year."

_Oh fuck._

Joining _them_? The little lady planned on dying too? That'd be something real to cheer for. She stormed to the platform, hoping all the little Capitol brats would cry at her scowl. She didn't crack her knuckles since those fake twisted beasts would probably like that.

"Hi," Drake said with a shy smile. He looked on automatic mode. His eyes were all glassy. What a weirdo. Cute weirdo.

Hawk patted him on the head, still looking pissed as hell.

"Tributes, salute the cameras!"

She'd rather give them the finger, but since everyone was a fucking wimp as far as the Capitol went, she saluted like a good little dog.

* * *

"Mum, what a surprise." Hawk said, sarcasm evident in her voice. Not that she was surprised her mother cared, she knew she'd come. She just hated pretending things were fixable when the world was just one big screw-up.

"Spare me, Hawk," the woman said. "You've been much better off with me and your father not living together and you know it. You're still my daughter and you still treat me like your mother. So take out your fucking temper on the other tributes will you?"

Hawk's eyebrows rose to her hairline. Someone got defensive for nothing...

"Yes, Ma'am," she said, crossing her arms, "didn't know you ever cussed."

"Married your father once, didn't I?" the woman replied with a thin smile.

Hawk appreciated the fact her mother stopped right there and didn't go on a rant on how the man was late right now or any other shit. She knew she had half-siblings of reaping age and now felt damn dumb for never having seen them. She could have taught them a trick or two, leaving a legacy and all...

"Fuck," Hawk pointedly said.

Fuck didn't cover it, she said 'fuck' all the damn time, fate had dunked her in a mountain-full of cow-shit and was keeping her down deep.

"That's what I want people to think when they see you, and not the babies making kind."

Yup. She did love her mum, even if she was a smart-mouth who found excuses for every tiny thing. Hawk hugged her gently, afraid to snap her in pieces. She was so scary skinny.

"I'll work on it," Hawk promised before stepping back.

She cracked her knuckles, wishing she could've mashed the painted escort's head to a pulp as she'd begun saying her name. She might even have chosen to keep the bruises, starting a new fashion among those capitol freaks.

The girl huffed, "I need a drag."

"Do you really?" Her mother said, worry in her voice now.

Hawk snorted. "I'm no fucking morphling, Mum, I'll keep it under control. Relax, people'd think _you a_re the fucking tribute."

"Do you even hear yourself speak, young lady?" The woman said, wrinkling her nose.

"Mum, is it really the time? Mind you, if people freak out on me because they want me to change my fucking speech, I'd get to throw the first punch while they bitch," Hawk said with a small grin.

Her mother chuckled weakly. "I won't be the one to tell you to neglect your strengths."

"Uh, Six?"

Six? She was a fucking _number_ now? Was her name too hard to remember? _Hawk, H-A-W-K, peabrain!_

"What?" She barked at the peacekeeper.

"There's an old man who looks like he's trying to pummel a younger bloke into not visiting."

Hawk's face twisted in fury. Couldn't the man stop being a pain in the ass? At least not today?

She rushed out of the room, hurt her father would make such a horrible day about him. And of course the bloody cops were just watching.

"Dad, get off him," she said, her elbow accidentally colliding with her father's head as she tried to grab him.

She stared at the unmoving result of her blow. Fuck, her old man was out cold. Her mother was laughing herself silly behind them, typical. A red faced Towler rose from under the larger man.

"Someone get me some frigging pen and paper," Hawk ordered through clenched teeth. _Damn it, Dad!_

Towler had a notebook on him. Hawk snorted, of course he had. Hawk ripped a page out. _I love you, you asshole, Hawk._ She wrote before stuffing it in her father's pocket.

She swung her arm around Towler, trying to be tough. "Told you the old jerk kicked ass."

"Well you inherited the best, not only you laid him out but you're much more attractive," Towler said with his easy smile, rubbing his swelling jaw. "You thing we can make out in a way so gross they'll let us finish rather than get anywhere near us?" he added with a smirk.

Hawk grinned. He was so handsome he made this screwed-up world seem okay."And that's why you're my man."

Those thrice-damned peacecops still pulled them apart, Hawk wanted to kill them. She'd get killed but at least she'd get the satisfaction of hurting someone who deserved every bit of pain and more.

"Miss, you can keep only one of your piercings as a trinket. Which one will it be?"

_The fuck?_ Hawk snarled, barely refraining from hitting the little shit. No one took anything off her face. She would've hit him, had Towler not gotten in the way.

"She'll look way more show worthy with them all, Sirs, the Capitol likes this kind of stuff," he said.

"We've got to get her to the train now, Leo," one of them whispered.

"Whatever, keep them then."

Hawk shot her boyfriend a grateful look. Smart-tongued prick. But then, he'd be a doc later, of course he'd awe them all with his brains.

* * *

**The Capitol's exploitation of its district citizens grows more and more visible as we reach the higher numbers. **

**For the wannabe doctors/nurses/etc out there, many of my friends are in actual Med School and finding it great despite the workload^^ I'm pushing it to the extreme here. Doctors are educated people, the Capitol wants the intellectual Elite even more closely monitored than regular district citizens, hence the pressure put on them.  
**


	8. District 7: Optimism and Ticking Clock

**Yolo Underbush, 13, District 7**

Yolo could feel eels brushing against his thin rubber boots. It was a comforting feeling. Those eels meant the water was shallow, that he wouldn't risk sinking in the muddy swamp. He trudged towards the thick tree, careful to keep the ropes around his shoulders out of the water.

"I see you not covering your ears, Yolo!"

Trudy's mock-stern shout made the long-haired boy's grin grow even wider. They had some solid singing voices in their work team so it was bawdy tunes from dawn 'till dusk. They'd started out soft in the morn, but now even the eels had to be blushing. He was pretty sure no woman would be cool with that kind of thing. Nor how it would even work. Trudy pretended to get furious when the men got too disgusting but that just meant her and Lotus would make them go red to the roots and avert their eyes when it was their turn to get a verse in.

Yolo loved it. The boy was tough for his age, and rather tall, at five feet of height. He had an irregular face and a perpetual smile that was unmatched in the gloomy swamps. It was the heavenly smell of the tree's wood that made them brave enough despite the death mosquitoes and filthy water. Even without the help of machines, there was some profit. His job was to tie the ropes to the lower branches so that the others could climb them with their axes without slipping on the wet bark. Then they'd start stripping the tree and collecting the sap. They weren't to chop no tree down that was younger than fifty years, so it was mostly just stripping.

Quick as a squirrel, Yolo had the five ropes attached in minutes. He then scrambled out of the way, reaching the top of the tree. As he gazed in the distance, it was as if he owned the whole forest .

"Hup!" a voice called from beneath him.

Yolo jumped down onto a lower branch, letting himself fall backwards so that he was hanging by his knees. Bear already had his part done, no surprises there. The man sang loud and spoke little, Yolo didn't even know his real name, but Bear went through wood as if it was butter.

"Gotcha," Yolo said, grabbing the rope he was thrown. He went to attach it to another branch. The man took it with a grunt of thanks, fastened it to his large belt and heaved himself up.

Yolo waved both hands at Trudy when she lifted her eyes to him, they were calloused and the last of the blisters had gone.

"My, my, Lad, one full year," the woman said, edging over to him and tousling his filthy hair.

Agile climbers were precious but few survived long. He'd gone through hundreds of days of work without a complaint, defeating infections and illness. That's why his team was so friendly to him now, they knew he would last.

"Aren't I awesome," he said with a huge grin.

"Hide some teeth, Yolo," a man hollered, "keep the lighthouse smile for when a girl will swoon before your cock!"

"Unless he knows he'll never need that kind of smile," another said.

"I've seen you smile so wide when you caught a big eel, Chase, thought you'd finally get lucky once you'd stapled it between your hairy legs?" Trudy shot causing laughter to erupt among the branches.

"Oh stop mollycoddling the lad, Woman." Chase grumbled.

"No, don't," Yolo protested sticking his lower lip out.

Chase and the others chuckled. "Smart lad," Chase said with a small smile.

* * *

"Hi, Ma!" Yolo greeted joyfully as he came home.

The woman's eyes met his briefly but didn't reply. Yolo didn't let that deter him. He knew he was the carbon copy of his father and that it had taken his mother months just to bear looking at him again. She was getting better. He was sure she would soon leave the house again.

Soon small hands were tugging at his shorts. "You got some wood, Yolo?"

"What about food? Fruit? I want fruit!"

Yolo's eyes were sparkling as he gave four year old Shae a piece of the scented wood. She squealed as she hugged him and rushed to the corner where she kept her carving rug. She was his favorite sibling, never whining, always so thrilled despite him bringing back something she could carve every other day. And she carved so well for someone so small.

"Fruit?" the slightly older Fey repeated, his eyes hopeful.

"Got three pounds of nuts."

"Blah! I want real fruit."

Liana swatted him on the bottom, hard enough to make him wince. "Go work if you want apples, and don't pull no faces at Yolo."

"But I can't! I got to go to school!"

"Could too if you really wanted."

"So could you," Fey shot back angrily.

"Somebody's got to keep this house in order!"

Ever since their father had run off with another woman, Liana had replaced their mother in everything despite her scarce ten years at the time.

"Oh stuff it, both of you," baby Rael shouted, his hands covering his ears.

Yolo grinned, picking the toddler up. "Man of the house wants his peace and quiet," he said, kissing his tiny nose.

"Big hole," Rael said, pointing at his shirt.

Yolo winced at the shredded material. He really needed to buy the little ones new clothes.

* * *

**Gamina Woad, 16, District 7**

The girl was resting slightly on her ax. She flexed her free arm, keeping her muscles warm.

The automated see-saw had moved back, leaving the lumberjacks to finish felling the thick pine.

"Timber!"

Gamina lifted her sharp tool up. The ground vibrated as the tree crashed.

Four men came in with chainsaws, dividing the trunk in six roughly equal logs. The skidder picked them up and brought them at her feet.

Her ax fell on a crack of the first log, splitting it in half. Wood held no more secrets for her. She struck the logs rhythmically, never having to readjust her curve. It was her impeccable aim that had landed her the enviable job. She had to prove herself every day and proved herself she did. She blinked saw-dust out of her eyes, chips of wood flying in every direction as the chipper-stripper processed the smaller branches. Her ax fell, again and again, until there were no more logs. She then helped Will lug the heap next to her on the big truck. Her feet took her back to her place where she waited. 215 seconds until the next tree. And so on until sunset.

Will stared at her unabashedly every time he passed her. They had been dating for a few months. He was funny, handsome, ambitious and gallant when he showed her off to his friends. He tended to vanish when she truly needed him for something. A jerk, but then she'd always dated jerks. She caught the eye so they tended to line up. She didn't want to fall in love or to be loved back. She liked him well enough. She'd accepted her fate long ago.

"Gamina," Chuck hollered, having turned the great chainsaw off.

The girl grasped the throwing ax lying on a stump and jogged up to him. One of the lower branches had cracked and was hanging dangerously over them.

"Isn't making sure this doesn't happen Barbell's job?" she said, annoyed.

"Got only called twice today, Woodpecker. That's lots of well culled trees, lots of branches," the muscled logger replied with a shrug.

Gamina bit back angry words, of course _he _could afford the occasional mistake. Lumber teams were close knit, she was the newbie. She'd better behave. Even if the men and women were generally fair to her. The ax whistled as it sailed in the air, severing the hanging branch off and falling onto a rock with a clang. Most everyone could of hit that. Hit it hard enough but not too hard so no one would have to climb the tree to retrieve the ax was why they'd called her to do it.

Will tutted at her when she came back. "Temper, Gami, temper."

_Jerk._

* * *

Gamina smiled. She didn't even have to knock on the door, her siblings had been watching out of the window.**  
**

Her good-humor fled and she gasped. "Lila? What's that on your hands?"

Unsurprisingly, nine year old Robin answered for her younger sister.

"We got eggs! Quail and Pewees!"

The girl lowered her voice on seeing Gamina's olive green eyes narrow. "We saw a nest except it was a bit hard to reach, so..."

"Why?" Gamina snapped, tearing at her lustrous brown hair in fury. "Why do you behave as if we need food? Do you know how many people, older than you are, die in the marshes every month following the logger's trails? They're equipped, you're not!"

Unsaid was that their mother had died from an infection after ingesting the putrid water.

"We do need food though," fourteen year-old Merlin said, carrying a disinfectant bottle and applying it over the sink on Lila's scratches.

"No," Gamina replied, certain.

"Dad can't do more."

He could remarry. But Gamina had long ago let go of that hope.

She looked at them in dismay. "Are you hungry," she said, her voice softer. Merlin's expression grew somber.

"No, but you're our only provider with Dad, Gami. We need to learn to find food by ourselves."

"Shh!" Robin hissed, slapping her brother on the leg.

Gamina paled. Her hands clenching tightly because she knew they were right. She had cystic fibrosis. With three tesserae to Merlin's name in addition to the two salaries, the family suffered little from cold or hunger. But there was still little left for medicine. She was healthy now but it took greater doses every year to keep the cough away. She wouldn't see twenty. She didn't point out that she had less chance of getting reaped than Merlin, not wanting to get into another horrible screaming match about who the family could afford to see die.

"Then learn to spot the eggs, to pick them without ripping your hands off, to chase the little animals without shredding your jeans to tatters and to kill them without losing a knife to the bog. Do it properly," she said.

"We try," Robin said, her chin stuck out despite her apologetic eyes, "we can't learn without trying."

Gamina softened. "Let's do an omelet with those eggs."

She smiled as Lila cheered.

* * *

**Yolo Underbush, 13, District 7**

A blonde teenager was waiting for him at the shop. They had to hurry, everything closed early on Reaping Day.

"Nice dress, Dasheen," Yolo said appraisingly. He then grinned slyly at his older sister. "You never wear dresses. Who'd you want to impress?"

"Give me a couple of weeks, I'm still making my mind up," the girl whispered, wagging her eyebrows mysteriously.

Yolo laughed.

Dasheen's expression grew more serious. "Do they ever ask anymore?"

"They must think about you lots, it's just mum starts crying whenever someone mentions you."

There wasn't a hint of reproach in Yolo's tone. Liana had hated Dasheen with a passion ever since she'd gone to live with their father and had decreed that day the older girl was no sister of theirs. What Liana and the others didn't know was that Dasheen and their father still provided over half the income for their family. Yolo's wage would never have been enough to support the six of them.

"Silva is really great, you know, and she and Dad are so in love. I just wish… Can't we still be a family? Mum should be over it by now. They weren't even the perfect couple or anything before he left."

Yolo grasped her hand. "Give her a bit more time. Shae and Fey still crawl in my bed asking for stories of the times we were all together, I know they miss Dad, even if they're angry at him. Just some time," he said confidently, "I need mum to be well enough to understand we'll not be abandoning her, just making the most of our non-perfect Dad."

"Just because he was a crap husband in the end doesn't mean he isn't a cool dad. She's a seriously crap mother though. She let us all down! It's been fourteen months!"

"No, she's just weaker than some. She's family, Dasheen, I'm not giving up on her. And we owe her, lots."

"You're a more forgiving person than I'll ever be. What size is Rael now," the girl said rummaging through the rack of children's clothes.

* * *

The reaping square was as loud as it was crowded.

"What a sad little person," Yolo muttered with a wry smile as the obese escort ordered the peacekeepers around with bored flicks of his wrists.

"Little? Billy snorted. "He's bigger than my bloody house!"

Yolo laughed at the fat escort's bored tone when he began his customary speech. "Look at him ruling his little empire, he looks even unhappier at being here than most of us."

"Speak for yourself, Yolo. I wish I was just bored." Billy said, repressing a shiver.

"He won't pick you," Yolo promised with a grin. "You're too ugly for a Capitol show."

Billy punched him but looked hopeful all the same.

"Yolo!" a nearby boy hissed, interrupted their bickering.

"That's me." Yolo grinned, turning.

"You've just got reaped, you idiot."

Yolo's smile froze. He nudged Billy. "See."

The boy didn't answer.

Yolo sighed and made his way up to the platform, grinning up at the escort just to see if the man would react. He did, his face twitched and he looked away from the thirteen year old.

_Ha, take that._ Yolo thought.

He stared at the girl tribute with interest as she came up. She was old but gorgeous. Very strong and shapely with dark brown hair to her shoulders and green eyes that were shooting daggers at the escort. They got sent away immediately. Yolo only grinned. The man was going to get into so much trouble in the Capitol for doing things so badly.

* * *

"Stop smiling! Seriously stop smiling!" Liana said, slapping Yolo's cheek lightly.

"Who's going to bring us food now?"

"Fey, who cares!" Shae said, rushing into Yolo's arms and burying her face in his side.

"It's important, he's right," Yolo said, wondering how much his youngest siblings really understood. "Dasheen will, like she's done since the beginning."

The news dropped like a bombshell. Their mother had to lean on the wall to keep her balance, her face was ashen.

"I'd rather starve than accept anything from that bitch," Liana screamed.

"Calm down," Yolo said, his voice rising. He rarely raised his voice, Rael whimpered. "My money has never been enough. She was very happy to help even if she knew she wasn't welcome anymore. She's the only reason we haven't all starved. I know you feel she abandoned us, Liana, I know you've worked so hard at being there for the five of us."

"It should've been Dasheen's responsibility! She left us alone," Liana said, fighting tears.

"It should've been mother's responsibility. But she was just too busy wallowing in self-pity while Yolo risked his life everyday trying to support you all," an angry Dasheen said, entering the room. "Tell me, Mother, did you ever do the maths? You have a good idea of how much a kid makes in the swamps. Did you think he was stealing to make up for the extra money? Did you even care?"

The woman had curled up on the floor and begun to sob.

"That's enough, Dasheen." Yolo said, his gray eyes flashing.

"I miss you guys. I just couldn't stay there. I would've strangled her." Dasheen's expression grew hard again. "Jill didn't let Kestrel and Tia rot when her husband died, and Tim held his head high and still came to work when he learned his kids weren't his, that Cindy had been shagging half the town behind his back. And he loved that slag, except he loved the children he'd seen grow up enough to suck it up!"

"So you left too. We feel so loved, Dasheen," Liana said softly, looking down. The older girl's face fell, she slowly put her arms around her sister.

Yolo noticed Trudy was looking at them all weird from the door. He walked up to her, stopping at his mother's side.

"Get up, Mum, I love you, we all do, you've got plenty of long years to make it up," he said gently, kissing her dark hair, letting her lean on Fey. "Don't you dare turn the attention back on me, I've been waiting months for this to happen," he then said, low enough so that only Trudy could hear.

"Don't worry, your father's outside, he already warned me. I get it now," she said, looking peeved.

Yolo hugged her. He'd always made it sound as if they were a happy family. It made people smile instead of feeling like he was adding his problems on top of theirs. He hoped she wasn't angry. He was happy to see his mother walking up to his sisters and putting a frail hand on Dasheen's shoulder. He grinned when the girl didn't push her away. He gestured Shae over with a finger. Fey and Rael were busy hugging their sister. Yolo poked his head out of the door, lifting Shae up and putting a hand over her father waved, causing Shae to flail in Yolo's arms. He let her run to him. An uneasy looking Billy was standing behind his father and ran forward.

"You have a whole room. Use it." A peacekeeper said, preventing the tribute from stepping in the Justice's building main corridor.

Billy squeezed himself in next to Trudy. "Your father wouldn't let me in," he grumbled.

He then just stared at his friend and blushed when the other playfully stuck his tongue out.

"I…I…You were a great friend, Yolo… I…don't want to lose you."

Trudy smacked him. "A little faith lad. He survived the swamps. We lose more than a score a year. The Games will be child's play. You go there like a winner, Yolo. Don't let them tell you otherwise."

Yolo clapped them both on the arms. "Don't worry, life provides. Just babysit a bit while I'm away, if you can and make sure Shae grows up knowing her dad. Make sure Mum doesn't do anything stupid," he said, losing some of his cheer.

"Yolo, Come here," Liana ordered before smothering him in a bear hug. "Come back, please come back so we can be all together again. Well, sort of." she mumbled sheepishly as her mother sniffed.

"I promise."

"Token," Fey said clapping his hands together.

"What? Oh right," Yolo said. He grinned expectantly at the assembled people. Liana smacked him again before pointing at the door. "Shae's got the wooden whistle she carved in her pocket, I'll get her."

"So you whistle, and angels come and help," the little girl said seriously as Yolo stood crouched before her. He cradled her tenderly.

"It's brilliant, Shae, I sure will whistle."

* * *

**Gamina Woad, 16, District 7**

"Cause she hacks."

Gamina turned upon hearing the familiar raspy voice.

"And she stacks," the short stout girl with a birds nest of chestnut hair added, pointing to the willowy blonde to her left, "and I quack," she finished with a smile.

Gamina grinned at her two best friends. "Packing quite the punch today, Resin."

"She made me nearly ruin my heels, dragging me here like a fury. Is my makeup still holding?"

Vera had grease up to her shoulders during the day, as she helped her parents not only with the fetching and storing of spare machinery pieces but also with the fixing. But as soon as the day was over, she fancied herself a star.

"You're as ridiculous as always, Dear, don't you worry," Resin cackled.

Vera patted her hair, looking quite relieved. "We'll be organizing a happening at Resin's," she said, a spark in her eyes.

"Sister dearest finally got knocked up. Announced it by barfing all over Dad at breakfast," Resin explained with a grin.

Gamina laughed. "Congratulations! About time too."

"With how easy it is to get pregnant _with_ contraception. You'd think she was doing it on purpose."

Resin winked. "Or not doing it."

the peacekeepers began to usher the teenagers towards their sections and the girls had to separate.

"Lazy lazy," Vera tutted at Gamina.

Gamina had been a late baby, born six days after the reaping, and they never let her forget it. She scowled at her friends as the two headed to the seventeen's pen.

Tapir Marshall waddled up to the stage. The enormous man was an insult to every person in the district. Gamina hoped he died a painful death, preferably where she could see it happen.

"Welcome to the 63rd Hunger Games, may the odds ever be in your favor!"

Well, if even he sounded unenthusiastic what was the world coming too? At least if he'd been angry or sad. No, the escort was _bored_. She pictured his father as even fatter and filthy rich, with a wife young enough to be his son's sister. She imagined he got the job on his birthday, needing it as much as he needed the cake. Accepting it because escort was what fashionable people did back in the Capitol. At least people were chattering all around instead of listening to him. He flicked his hand towards a nearby peacekeeper. The man went to fetch the paper from the boys' glass for him. Yes the boys', because President Zephyr wanted to be perceived as innovative. So to prove he was nothing like the man who had founded the Games or his cruel daughter, he'd revolutionized them: boys went first.

Yolo Underbush.

He walked to the stage a bright smile on his face. Some said he wasn't right in the head, working where dozens of kids had lost their lives without a care. Others said that he was the most positive person in town. He climbed like a squirrel and whistled like a dream. All Gamina really saw was that the blond boy was thirteen.

As soon as he was on stage, Tapir waved his hand again, not bothering to call for volunteers.

"Gamina Woad" He read out.

Gamina stared right at him, her jaw dropping.

_Her?_

It was fair in a way. She was already condemned. She thought of quail and pewee eggs as she forced herself to walk up to Yolo. No. It wasn't fair, it could never be fair. She bit her lip to stop herself from screaming.

"They've seen you, you can go now." Tapir dismissively said once they were both beside him.

Gamina wished for her ax, so she could chop the man's fat outstretched hand off.

* * *

"Dad..."

The man was crying.

Gamina felt her heart break. No matter how stubborn about some matters, he'd always been solid and good through their childhood.

"Father, please."

"No. It's a great time to cry, Princess," he said, his body wracked by silent sobs as he pulled her head against his chest.

"We all knew you'd leave," Lila said, sucking on an index.

Robin pulled the finger down. "We'd planned a great party for you, when you'd really start coughing," she said, her childish voice shaking with anger. "They ruined it. I'll make them pay."

Gamina pushed her father off to grasp her sister's chin. "Don't you dare give them what they want. They want angry children they can punish to show how all this control is necessary, don't! Live happy and fed, then when you're old and shriveled you can tell them where to put it. "

"Come back, just promise you'll survive," Merlin said, anguish twisting his kind face.

"I promise, Merlin," she said, kissing his forehead tenderly.

" 'She stacks, I quack,' sounds terrible," Resin said, her customary smirk absent.

"But this will certainly solve our budget problems for the happening. Music amplifiers are peanuts for a victor;" Vera said clapping her hands together.

"Got some hacking to do before _that_ happens." Gamina said with a little smile. She appreciated their show of confidence.

"Then go hacking," the others said, engulfing her in a three-way hug.

"Blast! My mascara," Vera muttered.

"Do stop whining," Resin snapped.

The two girls both laid a hand on Gamina's neck, pressing the wooden pendant against her skin. They each had a copy. They'd made it in woodworking class when they'd been eight.

"Hey..." Will said, looking grave, "I smuggled you some raspberries I'd saved for myself. They must've thought I had some romantic trinket in the bag."

Gamina's eyes crinkled. She loved raspberries, but since she always worked behind the lumberjacks, she missed most of the occasions to pick them.

"You know, Will, you've got the looks and wit. If you're half as kind to your next girl as you're being to me right now, she'll marry you."

"Gami, there won't be a next girl."

She snorted.

Will blushed. "Aw, come on," he muttered.

Gamina was chuckling softly as she wrapped her arms around him. There was just something about him that lightened the mood.

"I'll think of you, be well." she murmured in his ear.

"I'll be watching and telling everyone how awesome you were. Except, Gami."

She met his pale eyes.

"We're breaking up now, I don't want you to kiss another guy while you're with me. You might have to kiss another guy. Games stuff, right?"

Gamina chuckled. That was so Will.

"I'll be back, Will," she lied.

"I bloody hope so," he answered, looking away.


	9. District 8: Sacrifice and Responsibility

**Tesu Sumach, 17, District 8**

"Where are the exams?" Synthra said, her voice tired and impatient.

Tesu hurried over to the cupboard where he'd put the papers the same morning and handed them to the teacher's outstretched hand.

"Here, Miss."

"Can I go to the toilet?" One of the seven year olds said. Big round cheeks, whiny voice, Tesu had no clue who he was. But then, the young relief teacher never had the time to learn the children's names.

"Accompany him, Tesu. All the rest settle down and sharpen your pencils."

The thirty-nine students began rummaging in their pencil-cases, disciplined like they never would be with him. Why would they? He was only there for four days, helping out Synthra who managed both them and another class while one of her colleagues recovered from a bad flu.

Tesu lead the kid to the bathroom. He saw the glint in the little boy's eyes as they neared the urinals. He repressed a sight. The boy's aim was off by a mile and Tesu had to wash behind him. The other teachers would have made the cheeky brat do it, but Tesu remembered how he had been at that age, believing he could do anything, believing he was not helpless and would have a good life. Better times. The little boy would be punished for his silly prank a hundredfold in adulthood.

"Sorry," the seven year old said with a cute impish grin as Tesu finished drying his hands. The boy stuck out his little hand for the teenager to hold while walking back. Tesu grasped it.

"I didn't wash them," the boy whispered as they reached the classroom.

_Liar, _Tesu had seen the little devil do it. "Neither did I," he lied.

The boy made gagging noises."Eww!"

"Mylar! Hurry up!" Synthra said.

Mylar sprinted to his seat; growing very focused as he began sharpening his coloring pencils.

"I can go supervise the other class," Tesu volunteered. He knew the introductory movie to sewing techniques would not keep them occupied much longer. Synthra could use taking a seat.

"Yeah, you do that," the other replied, waving him off.

Thanks would have been nice. Tesu hated his job. He never saw the good sides of it. The smiles of children when they got to trust you, the satisfaction of seeing them learn, of watching them change. He was the gap filler, the nobody. Unfortunately it was the only job he could hope to have. He had no skill for graphic design and no experience to manage a warehouse. Tesu was allergic to the chemicals used to treat the clothes. Allergic to their touch and allergic to the vapors that permeated even the weavers' sections of the factories. He cursed fate every morning for having being born in Eight.

* * *

Tesu crawled along to the railway. The strong air currents in the tunnels chilled him to the bones. He'd discovered the place when he'd run away from home at thirteen. He'd thought he'd die in the dark, thirsty and lost. Instead he'd stumbled upon the old railway. It was still used to wheel rock pigments between different parts of the district, but the trains were old. The wind infiltrated through the cracks in the metal seals and blew colorful dust to the ground. Those colors were expensive, expensive enough that Tesu would spend his free evenings there, scraping up the powders in different handkerchiefs to sell to Kilim later. Tesu had learned to love the darkness. The tunnels were the only place the air smelt fresh. The rain fell black in the city streets, the few brave tuffs of grass grew sickly and gray.

When Tesu had finished for the night, he headed towards The Masquerade shop. Kilim made the dyes and cut the fabrics while his sisters sewed and folded the costumes to be sent by truck to the Capitol. Tesu hoped his friend had made some profit this week. If Kilim had no money, Tesu would be sleeping outside again with no hope of a meal before the next night.

"Tesu! Come on in," Kilim said with a grin. "Look at this," he said, twirling his midnight blue silk cape around.

"You look like a dandyish vampire. Canceled order?"

"Better, much better"-the blonde elegantly spun on his heels for effect -"It's an old piece a theater has no use for, they sent back a whole cargo asking for 50% of the gross sale profits we'll make by selling them second-hand. We should make an extra two-months profit with it."

Kilim and Tesu had played for hours as little kids between the sumptuous racks of the Masquerade, spinning wild stories as they discovered new costumes or staging the script excerpts from plays that Capitol customers would send to help the designers have a better idea of what they were asked to do. Tesu missed the wild dreams they'd shared then.

"Does that mean I can rip you off and not feel bad about it?" Tesu asked with a tentative smile.

Kilim seemed to consider it as they headed towards the storage room for dyes. He stopped and poked Tesu's ribs sharply.

"Hey! What was that for?"

"I'm definitely fatter than you are. You're right, keep this."

Tesu gaped as Kilim threw him a purse. There was ten times what he usually got in Kilim's hand. Almost as much as Tesu made in a week's teaching. He might even get good vitamins for Spindle with that. He was eternally grateful that Kilim didn't mind him begging.

"Brilliant, Kilim, I won't forget."

* * *

Spindle looked so breakable on her chair, her little fingers dancing across the loom. She was gifted, her looms fetched enough to provide for most of the food that came in the household. It wasn't much but it helped, a lot. And Tesu cursed her gift every day. Had his sister been more common, she'd be working at the factories by now, making less but out of Raffia's sight, away from her hands and evil words. With her pallid skin and brittle frame, Spindle looked closer to ten than her actual fourteen.

Their father would not return before eleven pm, squandering money to eat out rather than return home and face his wife. Coward.

"Hi Arachnea, how was your day?" Tesu said, stroking her head gently.

"Quiet," the girl replied with a small smile, blushing slightly at the nickname, like every other time.

"Great, now gulp these down before she sees."

It was always 'she' or 'Raffia'. He hadn't called her Mother in a long time, no matter how much the woman made him pay for it when she overheard.

Spindle swallowed the two pills. "What are they?"

"Iron and magnesium. I got lucky today," he said, wearing a pleased smile.

She smiled back, grasping his hand. Her eyes soon darted back to the half-automatized loom. "I need to finish this by tonight," she said.

Tesu gritted his teeth. He could run at full speed in hazardous pitch black tunnels without getting a scratch but keeping his sister safe? He struggled to bring in money but he wondered if he wasn't wasting his energy on unimportant stuff, it did Spindle no good.

"Tesu, don't," she whispered, her eyes sad.

"I'm never going to pretend this is right, little spider, moping does no good but accepting it would make her truly win." He clasped her shoulders "Her words are poison. You are beautiful, gifted and important. She'll be out of our lives soon enough."

"I still need to finish this," Spindle said, but there was tightness to her lips that Tesu liked.

* * *

**Georgette « Georgie » Calico, 14, District 8.**

Georgie's ruby lips were pursed in anger.

She stood at the entrance of the Siren, the big, and only, pub and dance house in the city. Georgie found the name apt, but was thinking more emergency sirens than the singing fish-ladies. Music was going through a bad period.

But it wasn't the music that ticked her off. No, it was Lacie. Green-eyed, statuesque Lacie who was swishing her long blond hair in her naive, 'I can't get that I'm the prettiest girl in a place full of horny guys and I'll soon be the center of the attention.' way. Lacie, that made the ginger skinnier girl feel inadequate despite the compliments she occasionally received on her harmonious face and soulful dark blue eyes. Gentle, shy Lacie who was too kind to refuse a cocktail glass. Lacie, who got so childish when she was tipsy.

"Lacie," Georgie said sternly as she reached her best friend's side.

"Georgie! This is Alcian, he's sooo nice," she said with a radiant smile. "This is Georgie, my very best friend."

"And chastity belt, find yourself another prey." Georgie snapped at the man. He had to be thirty, that was over twice their age, it was sick.

"Georgie, don't be like that. We're just friends. He just wants to know about school!"

"See," Georgie said, flashing the now put out Alcian a tight grin. "Shoo."

"You're late," Lacie huffed after a pause.

"You're a shameless tease who doesn't even realize it. Come, let's go wait for Fuller outside."

She dragged the blonde out of the pub, noticing how heads swiveled towards Lacie as they passed. Lacie was quite happy to follow her. Georgie couldn't remember a single time where she'd lost an argument to that girl, and that was why her best friend needed her protection: Lacie just couldn't survive on her own. Fuller now was something else. He had to fight about everything, even if he was doomed to lose. Such a boy, but Georgie loved him for it.

When Fuller appeared, with his black hair as tangled as freshly sheered-wool and his big brown eyes sparkling with mischief, Georgie let out a sigh of happiness. Work day was over, she could start having fun. She stifled a yawn, wondering why the days seemed longer and longer as time passed.

"Hello, pretty birds, why aren't you inside?" Fuller said, impatient to go in.

"Lacie was chatting up a guy."

"Was not," Lacie muttered, blushing furiously. Georgie sighed, the flush to her cheeks made the other girl even more comely. It was so unfair. A good thing Lacie was so nice.

"So? This is the Siren, the whole point is to get free drinks and to share them with me!"

"That's what we are to you, free drink tickets?" Georgie said, her eyes narrowing in outrage.

"No!" Fuller said with a groan, "I hang around you at school and there's no alcohol there, Genius."

"But you wouldn't hang out with us at night otherwise?"

"It's not just that!"

"But that's what's important though, free drinks!" Georgie snapped. He could at least have asked how her day had been.

Lacie sighed.

The two snapped their heads towards her. "Don't sigh at us," they both said.

Georgie winked at Lacie as she crossed her arms. She and Fuller were always bickering, they couldn't help it.

"So, what's the drink of the week? I've just got enough for a glass," Fuller said with a big smile.

* * *

Georgie walked hand in hand with eight year old Batiste on the narrow street. The ginger's little brother shared the same school as her even if they had classes in different buildings.

Georgie noticed Batiste had a thin book in his other hand. "You've begun reading that today, in class," she said.

The boy nodded eagerly beneath his mop of brown curls.

Georgie's face broke into a smile. "So I gather you liked it."

Batiste bobbed his head again. He already was a man of few words.

The house they entered was pristine. There was not a cleaner building in Eight. Georgie smiled at the sound of Satin's ebullient laughter. The open door revealed the squealing three-year old, her adorable face all scrunched up. Dimity Calico smiled warmly at her two older children as they all but threw their bags on the couch.

"I caught a prince today," Satin said proudly, bouncing up to them.

Georgie raised her eyebrows at the littlest one's trademark cheeky smile.

"Oh no…" Batiste moaned.

Satin giggled. "I even kissed it!"

She was laughing so hard she'd fallen on all fours, her whole body shaking.

Georgie was suddenly suspicious. "Mom let you bring a frog in this house? You spoiled little thing!"

Cheeky grin firmly back in place. Satin bounced up to her bed and took a pot from under it.

"I want a transfusion or something," Batiste whispered to Georgie. "It's not fair that she gets all the energy. I'm tired from just looking at her."

Georgie gave him a one armed hug. "You're perfect the way you are."

Batiste didn't smile, he rarely did, but his cheeks dimpled and the look he gave his sister was one of passionate worship. Georgie felt her insides glow.

"Maybe it's a princess, you kiss it Batiste!" Satin said, shoving the pot as close to his nose as she could reach. She then dissolved into laughter again.

"Leave Batiste alone. He's got a book to finish, it's very important, and if the frog changes to a princess she'll be very unhappy if he doesn't have time to take care of her," Georgie said, grinning at her sister.

Satin nodded before giggling again and shaking her head furiously, making her chocolate locks bounce around her face.

"Frog is a boy! I told you so!"

"Then he can't be a princess," Georgie pointed out, letting Batiste escape to his room.

"Yes! 'Cause if Batiste kiss him, he'll be in a dress."

"kissed," their mother absently corrected.

Satin didn't hear, she was already howling with laughter again.

"When must you go today?" Dimity asked her eldest daughter.

Georgie fixed her shoulder length ginger curls up with a big hair clip. "In half an hour. I'll wash up later tonight. I hope Fall will come soon, this heat is unbearable."

Georgie worked as a seamstress after school. She was the main source of income of the family because no matter how great as house holding and raising her children Dimity was, the woman was still too fragile to do more than housechores for others. Not since Caddis had left. Dimity had tried to go back to the factories but she always got sick, it wasn't fair.

Caddis Lowell. They'd all been Lowells too once. Until he'd grown bored of them. _Bored_. And then he'd become a stranger, as if he hadn't been her father for the first twelve years of Geprgie's life. The fourteen year old could've forgiven the man for what he'd done to her. She'd had to grow up damn fast and damn hungry to boot, feeding four mouths while fighting to stay at school until sixteen, not wanting to work the factories until she was old and shriveled up, but she could handle it. What she could never forgive was him shattering her mother's self-confidence. She also hated him with a passion for what he'd done to Batiste. His dad had been his hero before Georgie had filled that role, and his hero had walked out the door forever, without them even suspecting he was leaving for good. She'd learned that day that kind promises from men were worth nothing, even when said with earnest faces. They were all selfish.

Georgie was late when she left the house. It seemed she was always late these days. Her skinny legs broke into a run. She arrived precisely on time.

"No one under twelve will be given a job here, girl" the man guarding the door said

Georgie raised her eyes to his, a murderous scowl on her face.

The man blinked. "My mistake, young lady. You're a mighty small thing. You work here?"

"I've been working here longer than you obviously, now move, _Sir,_" The ginger snarled. She hated to be reminded how child-like she looked. She had the head of an eighteen year old screwed on the body of a tween, and it frustrated her to no end.

"Manners, girl," the man said, but he let her in.

Georgie could have cared less about his opinion as she headed towards her sewing machine.

* * *

**Tesu Sumach, 17, District 8**

Reaping day was special; people's eyes met and they shared _something_. Whether it be hope, fear or understanding. They did their own business all year long but that day, and for all the Games, they were District Eight. People met their future friends more often than not in front of the Games. It was a time when people talked to each other.

Ambrose Dovey was in full charm mode during his "may the odds ever be with you" routine. There was something troubling in the escort's eyes, as if he liked to read the names out knowing exactly what lay in store for them.

"And the odds have pointed to Aureus Florin!"

Tesu let out a breath he didn't know he'd been was holding. He knew the eighteen-year old by sight and reputation. Tall and fat, tough enough people didn't cross him, and proud. The pride of the lone rich. His sister had to be Eight's most beautiful woman. Tesu felt sorry for him. Aureus had had everything to be happy; life sucked.

Aureus stopped before the platform and turned to face the crowd, his face grave.

"I'll take care of your family as I would of my own if you volunteer."

Tesu inhaled sharply. "I volunteer," he said after a short deafening pause, surprising himself by stepping out on the concrete path to the platform. "I volunteer then," he repeated, his eyes widening in disbelief as he realized what he had done.

_But it was the right thing to do. He had to do this._

Suddenly afraid, he glared at the other boys. With his slanted eyes and fierce-looking face, he cut a menacing figure despite his lack of bulk. His jaw tightened as a determined fifteen year old shoved his way up to him. Their gazes locked. The other's fist shot forth, but Tesu was used to ducking blows. He crouched and brought his own foot up between the boy's legs. The other whimpered as he collapsed on the ground.

"I'm sorry," Tesu said, wincing in sympathy, "but I have to do this."

"Well that's one way of doing things," Ambrose said, a small smirk playing on his lips.

Aureus held out his hand as Tesu reached him. The shorter boy grasped it firmly, meeting the other's pained eyes.

"Come and see me after," Tesu whispered before jogging up to the stage.

"I am Tesu Sumach, 17 years old," he announced.

"Awesome," Ambrose said in mocking tones, already heading for the girls' reaping ball.

Tesu didn't care, Spindle would never have to worry about food ever again.

"And our little lady this year is going to be..." Ambrose smiled as the girls' nervousness increased. A tight, expectant smile which made Tesu's hair stand on end. _Not Spindle, just not Spindle. _

"Georgette Calico," the escort announced, as if savoring the name. A short girl with ringlets of ginger hair caressing down her shoulders came out of the fourteens'. She was very pretty in a pre-pubescent way and seemed to be praying as she walked, eyes lost in the distance. Her face was much older than her years.

"And so the Games begin! May the odds _ever_ be in your favor."

Tesu gritted his teeth, did the man have to sound so mocking? He walked to the Justice building, holding his head up high. Despite his dread, he'd never felt so proud of himself.

* * *

"You wanted to see me?" Aureus said tentatively.

Raffia shoved him against the door. "You steal my son from me and then dare show your face? Get out!"

"No!" Tesu said, raising his voice against his mother for the first time in his life. "Get out, Raffia, you lost the right to be respected as a parent when you stopped acting like one. You get out!"

That felt so good. Tesu whole face glowed with triumph as a peacekeeper led his mother away.

"Spindle, come in." His voice hardened again "Later, Father. At least five minutes after Aureus comes out."

"So, no money to her?" Aureus said, looking ill at ease.

"Not a crust of bread, and frankly, no more than the occasional alimony to my father, unless Spindle changes her mind about it," he said, his arm around his sister. "There also this Aunt, Cochlea Sumach. She's alone with my cousins, she could use a hand." His eyes became pleading, his grip around Spindle tightening. "Please take her in. She's no trouble, I..."

"Shut up," Aureus snapped. The older boy sighed loudly as he saw Spindle cringe. "Of course, you idiot, you volunteered. For me." He cracked a small smile and awkwardly brushed Spindle's bangs away from her face. "My family is sane, don't worry, my sister will love you." Aureus took off the golden chain around his neck. "Your old man doesn't look like the gift type to me. Keep it, it makes you look tougher."

Tesu accepted the gift, deciding to take the boy's word at it. After all the Capitol would doubtless share Aureus' tastes in jewelry rather than his. "Accompany her home, to get her stuff back before Raffia gets any ideas. I hope you... you know...succeed in life," Tesu wished at last.

Aureus just nodded.

"Little spider..." Tesu said, getting to his knees before his sister, worried at the blankness of her face.

"Little fool," Spindle interrupted with a heartbreaking smile.

"No. Nothing is worth more than this. It's not just you, Arachnea, it's your children too. You're safe now, you've got a real future. Our family will go on, a real family, through you."

"Just hug me, Tesu."

When his father came in neither knew what to say. They'd never really talked. He was just the man who slept at home. The man who had sometimes walked him to school or work.

"You did more with two words than I ever did for our family. I'll take no credit for it," his father finally said, "but it's a gesture worthy of the greatest men."

They ended up shaking hands, neither feeling right about it. Tesu hoped the man would find the courage to reconnect with Spindle.

"Dude, what am I going to do now?"

Tesu turned at the loud whisper coming from the door. He found himself smiling for no reason.

"Lucky it wasn't you. With a name like yours, you'd be dead before reaching the Capitol," he said.

Kilim stuck his tongue out before pouncing on Tesu and rubbing his fist against the other boy's sleek hair. The other put up token resistance, startled when he realized the unfamiliar sounds were his father's soft chuckles.

"I won't say it, because you know it. Give them one hell of a show," Kilim said.

"Time's up," the peacekeeper said outside. His father hurried out.

Kilim tipped an imaginary hat to his friend as he exited, his smile not reaching his eyes.

"Just a second please," a musical voice said. A gorgeous chestnut-haired young woman came in and kissed Tesu tenderly on the mouth.

"Thank you, for my brother. You'll have nothing more to worry about."

She left after having kissed him again.

Tesu stood there smiling stupidly, the taste of her peach lipstick on his lips. He was in so love in Gloria Florin.

There were worse ways to die.

* * *

**Georgette « Georgie » Calico, 14, District 8**

Georgie had a secret, and that secret was that she was deathly afraid of reaping day. For the last two years, every minute of her life had been well planned, even her nights out with Lacie and Fuller. She juggled between school and work, family and friends, and she was good at it, even if she could feel herself growing old before her time.

But the reapings were beyond her control. She reminded herself Batiste was eight, only eight, that he'd be safe, that she'd be eighteen by the time he was eligible. She'd have a real full time job and he wouldn't even need tesserae. Tesserae. She had four to her name, twelve extra slips that could mean her death. But she just couldn't be reaped, she was the sole provider. All this made her want to scream until her throat was raw. Instead she played logic puzzles with Batiste at seven am, losing more often than not. Actually, losing all the damn time.

"Enough humiliation for today," she finally said after the tenth loss in a row. "Go fetch me a glass of water, Slave," she ordered with a swish of her hand.

Batiste dimpled before complying.

"Georgie, don't talk to him like that. I don't want him to grow up being bossed around."

Georgie bristled. She found herself on her feet, her blue eyes flashing. Her voice was only kept to a bare whisper for Batiste's sake.

"Say one more time that I'm harming my little brother in any way, and I will change my name back to Lowell."

Dimity closed her brown eyes and took a deep breath. "Georgie, I'm not doubting your love for us or your devotion to this family. I'm just saying you should watch your tone."

"No, I get it, Mum."

"Oy, slave," she called.

"Yes?" Batiste said, looking at the two women curiously.

"If someone else ever bosses you around on calls you a name that is slightly disrespectful, you tell me later, and I'll kill them."

Batiste nodded, a little taken aback at her vehemence. He handed Georgie her water.

"Thanks," she turned to her mother. "See, problem solved."

The women sighed and kissed her daughter's forehead.

* * *

Georgie was standing in her usual reaping dress. She'd sown it herself when she'd been twelve and it still fit decently. She felt sick with dread, like every year. She stood still. She never stood still during the day. She always had a zillion things to do. Except at the reaping. At the reaping people waited. Lacie was holding her hand, her wide green eyes showing but a fraction of the other girl's fear. Baby Lacie, youngest of five, Lacie with her filled rosy cheeks. Lacie could never know how much Georgie envied her.

Ambrose Dovey swept on stage, as sickening as always as he flaunted his power over them with superb clothes that could feed her family for a year. Clothes he'd throw away the next day with total disregard of the workers who'd painstakingly woven the fabrics together.

Ambrose swept his gaze over them and it was obvious he liked what he saw. Georgie only saw fear and misery around her. Maybe the escort saw something twisted like the greatness of the Capitol. She hated him, hated him for accepting to do what he did. She hated him more than the peacekeepers who took away wrongdoers, because she was sure that, unlike them, Ambrose Dovey could sit all day at home and still have money to throw out the windows.

Some guy was reaped. Georgie didn't pay attention, but then the boy spoke.

"I'll take care of your family as I would of my own if you volunteer."

The ginger-haired girl sought the other boy's face. He looked both determined and disgusted with himself. Georgie pitied him, he'd have to live all his life knowing he'd sent a desperate boy to his death. She also envied him, for having the means to do that. A desperate boy did end up giving his name. Tesu Sumach. No one she knew, but Ambrose just had to be an ass about it.

Georgie realized her hands were now shaking uncontrollably because Lacey had tightened her grip. She never looked weak, ever. But Lacie was loyal, she didn't say a word. Georgie kept her eyes tightly shut, aware she was worse than some of the twelve year olds.

"And our little lady this year is going to be..."

_Just get it over with._

"Georgette Calico."

Her heart stopped.

_Why?_ She'd always worked her hardest. She'd never given up. _Why her? Why wasn't there a shred of justice in this world!_

As usual people were chattering now. Georgie was pushed forwards by the people around her. Lacie had abruptly let go of her hand to stifle her sobs.

Georgie dragged her feet to the platform, staring at the ground. She found herself silently begging the universe, anything that might help her. She had to win this. She had no choice. She had to win. She'd figure out the how later. She had to win or it was just like Batiste, Satin and her mother had been reaped too. She considered throwing up on the escort. No. She was too proud to do that.

"And so the Games begin! May the odds _ever_ be in your favor."

_Oh do be quiet, couldn't he see she was thinking?_

* * *

Her mother was ashen , Georgie caught her in her arms, wondering how the woman had walked up to the Justice building in the state she was in.

Dimity just held her, her grasp as fragile as a flower, not a sound coming from her lips.

"Mommy, Mommy, why are you like that?" Satin said, her face crumpling.

"She's just tired it's the heat, it gets to us all," Georgie said with a fake smile, helping her mother to sit, "I'm going to have to leave for a little while, Satin. I'm going to need you to be happy."

"That's okay, I got to practice with my dad," Satin said with an earnest face.

A punch to her stomach would have been less painful.

"She had no awareness of the significance of what she just uttered." Batiste quickly said, grasping Georgie's hand tightly. His eyes were dull, never had they been simply dull before.

"What," Satin exclaimed, pulling a face.

Georgie chuckled weakly as she hugged her brother. Amazed he'd had the presence of mind to use big words Satin wouldn't understand. Big words she most certainly hadn't known at his age. But he was right, Satin had just been a couple of months old at the time.

As Georgie looked at her little family, deathly fear began to paralyze her. She found she couldn't pull away from Batiste.

"Hey guys, why don't you come and eat at my house tomorrow," Fuller said from the doorway.

His voice was a pitiful croak, but it shook Georgie enough to remember she had to be strong for them.

"And mine afterwards," Lacie added, picking Satin up. The little girl loved playing with Lacie's long hair, it was so different from the curls everyone in the family had. Georgie was so grateful for the distraction.

"Many, many meals together," she muttered, her burning gaze on her two best friends. They couldn't let her family starve, they just couldn't.

Someone cleared their throat in the doorway. Georgie stared as she recognized her paternal grandparents. She'd seen them only twice in her life. Contrived, short meetings. The white haired woman spoke.

"We never approved our son marrying Dimity. But his behavior in the last few years has been unacceptable and no fault of yours. Blood is blood. We will figure things out with your friends, even if we have little to offer."

Georgie felt a sudden urge to shout at them. _Now _they turned up? Probably if the reaping had not been held in the city they'd still have remained strangers. But beggars couldn't be choosers. She nodded briskly.

"Thanks," she grudgingly said.

"Try not to get wounded too badly, even if you'll get medicine when you'll be a rich victor. I don't want you to hurt."

Georgie turned to stare at Batiste. A strangled sob escaped her throat. He looked so confident. Of course he believed she would win. She was his hero after all.

So instead she plastered a small smile on her face and said, "I'll do my very best, Batiste, my very very best."

When they left, all she had was a huge weight pressing on her chest and a hand sewn penguin she had given to Batiste for his fifth birthday. His reading penguin. Because he'd have no time to read anyway during the Games.

When there was no one left to see her. Georgie burst into tears.

* * *

**AN: This district was dreadful. Nine will be more fun. Please review^^.**


	10. District 9: Mummies and Tragic Love

**Harrow Carter, 18****,**** District Nine**

The robust teen swung a wheat bag, the fourth, over his back and walked towards the granary.

"Harrow Carter!" an irate voice shouted. Harrow winced, letting two of the bags fall down. He'd forgotten the woman would be nearby checking the milling wheels today.

"You will break your back, Young Man. Carrying twice your weight, madness!" Megan said, jabbing a stern finger at him. "At your age, you go around feeling like a strong bull, then at forty your wife will be doing all your work for you."

His father's back was bloody fine, Megan just had the smarter job so she brought back more. Still, sweet of her to care so much. Harrow smiled sheepishly at his Step-Ma.

"Sorry, I'll make two trips."

"It don't make you gain no time, Harrow," Megan said sadly, "you just pay that time all at once when you get old. Please don't go thinking it won't happen to you. You be smarter than that."

"I hear you, Megan. I won't be lazy again," Harrow said, more subdued. The woman lifted herself on tiptoes to caress his rough cheek.

"There is no lazy in you, just the speed of young bones."

He almost sighed. Only two at once would keep him lifting 'till sundown. But Megan wasn't his step-ma for nothing, so two at a time he carried.

* * *

Harrow slowed as he passed by Mirna's home, his arms aching from a whole day's work, and he wondered why he tempted trouble. He was three hours late. Still she would understand the back health trouble. Women took that stuff seriously, at least he hoped so.

The front door was open. There were only two tiny rooms but Mirna had her own place, and that was grand. Harrow didn't know why he'd only looked at younger girls before, the twenty-two year old was his very own dream.

She was lying on the bed, looking bored and sexy like a rich girl. Stark naked. Harrow found his mouth go dry. Mirna stood up slowly, and walked up to him, swaying her hips. She gave him a long deep kiss. Harrow was in a slight daze when she put two fingers on his lips.

"Oh wait, you're late. Get out of my house."

He stared at her stupidly as the words registered. His face fell. No way. This woman was evil.

"Out, now, tomorrow six AM sharp."

Harrow was sulking in front of her now locked door, waiting for blood to go back to his brain. He groaned. She was a tough little lady but she'd never pulled such a trick on him before. He couldn't go telling those sacks to pile themselves, could he? It wasn't his fault! He repressed the urge to storm back in: maybe Mirna had made a deal with her overseer to be there on time, and had waited for nothing.

That was why he'd only seen girls younger than him before Mirna, he decided. They'd never have thought of such devilish payback. He dragged his feet back home, glowering at the horizon.

* * *

"Harrow, up, up, up!" Six year old Teff squealed, diving into his eldest brother's bed.

Harrow groaned, his head pounding. He'd just had to listen to the guys and drink with them, hadn't he? Now rest day was ruined.

"Teff, what time is it?"

"Half past eight and you were snoring so loud you scared the birds away." He giggled. "Mama even took a picture."

Harrow winced at the prospect of Megan blackmailing him with her next time he snuck off to Mirna's. She'd be capable of plastering in front of the Mayor's building if she were of a mind. Harrow lifted Teff off him with one hand and struggled to his feet.

"Big Boy can't hold his liquor?" Megan teased by the door.

Harrow tucked a squealing Teff beneath his arm and grinned despite his headache."Well it wasn't real liquor, Ma'am, not really."

"Indeed not," another voice said from behind her.

"Don't chew him up just yet, Rosemary. He's shy about his big muscles that one."

Fat Rose was here? Trousers! Where were his trousers? Panicked, Harrow dropped Teff on the bed who squealed some more.

"Do you mind?" His other brother Emmer shouted from across the house, "it's like you're gutting a pig in there"

Harrow snorted, like Emmer knew what pigs sounded like. But maybe he did, the tyke was smart like that, understanding stuff like why rainbows went after rain. Harrow hoped Emmer'd get some posh job like Megan and have fat little children to play with. He liked the sound of that 'Uncle Harrow'. Save that wouldn't be so soon, with Emmer being eleven.

Bleeding trousers. Harrow finally found them. Fat Rose would be thinking he was a girl, taking his own good time to dress. What was the healer doing there anyway?

"Morning Rose, sorry for the wait. How can I help?" He asked with a grin.

Fat Rose wasn't really fat. Fat was all round. Fat was for other districts. Rose was fat where it mattered and only a little soft in the other places, she was gorgeous. And she was amazing, making plants do to people what no one else could make plants do.

Rose grinned back. "You got set up, Big Boy."

Harrow blushed at the nickname. It was weird coming from a girl his age. "Set up?"

"Come and see."

Rose brought him behind the house. A big stack of sad looking ferns which had not been there the day before made a mess of the grass. Harrow frowned.

"That's what made the alcohol," Rose said, shaking her head. "Goats could've distilled them better by the way. But honest, Harrow, these plants were engineered to make fuel alcohol, not the drinking type. Whose grand idea was it?"

Harrow's frown turned into a dark scowl, but he kept his mouth shut. He'd set Terrence right later, the jarhead, znd if that big idiot had been the one to dump them leaves into his garden he'd do more than just shake him.

"How d'you know to come here though, Rose?"

She rolled his eyes at him. "How much you weight," she asked.

"Round two hundred," Harrow guessed.

"How much you drunk last night?"

Harrow tried to remember. "Four pitchers maybe? But half was syrup in each."

Rosemary sighed and crossed her arms in front of her ample bosom. "And you got stoned bad. You weasel friend Fertle, he drunk five. He be less than half your weight, Harrow. His sister woke me up at four 'cause he was getting mighty cold and wasn't moving."

_Oh bummer._ "Is he gonna be okay?"

The healer snorted. "Should be. Okay enough to make me come here. Might bust his brain doing that again, though. There are toxins in the plants. You don't distill them right, you're drinking little death. "

"I had no idea. I'll stop them next time, sorry for giving you more work." Harrow said, feeling bad. He hoped Mirna would never find out. She'd have his head for being 'juvenile', which was a smart word for stupid kid.

He gestured to the heap. "So you want those, Rose? Should I burn them?"

"How about my brother Crisp takes them off your yard and you lend me those arms of yours for few hours? We saw a boar in the forest. We'd rather not share the hunt price."

Harrow nodded. He understood her reasoning. Besides maybe the ferns were poisonous to touch now or something. He knew even less of the weird Capitol bred plants some people grew than of the flowers of the hunting grounds. And he could use a good hunt.

"Can I bring Teff? He's learning fast. He knows to be real quiet."

"That squealer?" Rosemary said, looking skeptical. "If you feel like it."

Harrow winked at her.

"Teff, come out with your hunting gear," he bellowed, "We're taking a walk."

"Harrow, please," Emmer shouted from inside, annoyance obvious in his tone.

Teff soon came zooming out of the house, struggling with his brother's large bow. His cute face was beaming.

"Go, go, go! Wild animals don't go waiting around for no one," he sang.

He got all quiet when Fat Rose put a finger to her full lips. She tousled his hair. Harrow smiled approvingly. The kid listened to her. She'd make a good mother.

* * *

**Rosemary Shakra, 18, District Nine **

She squatted near the big tree, it was still wet from the previous week's heavy rains. She scraped up the fungi. Those were good against muscle cramps. Small Chickaree was leaning against the same tree, bored, but the child knew not to bother her. Peacekeepers gave bonuses to those who caught those who didn't turn it all in, whether it be scrawny squirrels or deer pickings. Rosemary wasn't left to harvest her plants in peace, no, the little darling had to watch over her. Ten years old and already so nimble... but Rosemary didn't dare make an ally of her.

It was all a balance: if all played it legal, if the watchers were too good, many people starved and less grain and meat went to the Capitol. If there was no more watchers, if no more in Nine agreed to rat the hunters out to the peacekeepers, then Nine would become a big jail like Eleven, and many people would die. Chickaree would go telling people if Rose asked for her help to hunt. She'd ask for a part for her hungry siblings, for her tiring parents. Chickaree's best friend would know, her family got hungry too for sure, and so on it went. Rosemary had done little schooling but she could see these things as clearly as an old man's aches.

Raspberries, just to her left, little bushes. Those sold dear. The Capitol did not know the worth of food. Two pounds of raspberries should not be worth more than a fat rabbit. Who'd you feed with raspberries? Truffles. Behind there were truffles. Truth to tell, crumbs of eaten truffles. Rose glanced at Chickaree. Poor girl needed to sleep more. Rosemary swept the truffles under old leaves so they would not be seen.

"Look, raspberries, why don't you harvest those while I keep looking for my herbs."

The child straightened and efficiently went to work, setting her bow down. Her eyes were far away. Rosemary promised herself she'd ask while they were heading back. She followed the truffle trail. She noticed the smell. Boar. She needed to get Chickaree off that trail. It wasn't legal to attack a boar with less than six. Rosemary agreed with that logic, she'd spent many a night patching those ugly tears up and setting broken bones. But she could poison it, still keep the meat good, she just needed time. The peacekeepers wouldn't bother her, she'd been good for a very long time. And she healed them too.

"You finished?"

Chickaree nodded, so Rosemary pointed away from the boar's lair. "You look bored to death, let's go get some birds for feathers."

The little girl blushed and gave her a shy smile. "Thanks, Fat Rose."

Rosemary smiled back. She'd learned to love that name. She was like her mother, putting on weight just by smelling food. A peacekeeper had told her about evolution selecting the best traits for survival, wanting to impress her. She really just cared that the little ones slept tighter when held against her big breasts and that people took her seriously because she looked grown up.

* * *

Rosemary was running, her bare feet not even feeling the little sharp rocks anymore. She'd had to grow tough, scooting with little notice here and there to answer summons. They'd had a motorbike once but there was no money to fix it, not with the twins growing so fast.

She heard Carina's screams before she reached the door. She'd brought three bored-looking peacekeepers, because she liked to show them. Show them that District Nine wasn't One, Two or even Five. So that they would remember when they ordered a whipping. At least Carina's man Sylvan had done as she said, boiled towels and two basins full of water were near the birthing woman. Wizened Chow was wringing her bony hands.

"The baby's upside down, I can't turn it," the old lady said, "Carina's too small and it's too big."

They'd told Rosemary that on the phone. The healer would rather also have known the mother's tail-bone had been crushed by the baby's stuck buttocks. She hoped the painkilling paste would be enough.

"I'm going to need you two to carry the basins there, please," she told the peacekeepers. Big strapping lads and a smaller but still strapping lady. There was one thing she knew about those people: they never said "we can't do". The men looked disgusted and terrified but they stayed and that Rosemary liked.

Carina screamed when she cut the baby out and sewed her back up, but as long as she didn't thrash against her man, Rosemary knew the painkillers were working fine enough. The peacekeeper woman was holding the legs, it seemed her and Sylvan were doing a competition at who made the best grossed out face while keeping Carina's limbs steady. Rosemary chuckled, letting Chow wash the squealing thing. One big baby girl. Poor Carina, her first birth. Rosemary signaled Sylvan over. The man took the black cloth off his woman's eyes and unplugged her ears. Carina grinned on hearing the baby's cries.

"Don't get back up," Rose quickly said. "You can feed her but stay down and don't you sit on your tail-bone until it heals. Can you afford Doctor Kruge for a small pot of bone balm and something for the scar?"

"We can make it for that," Sylvan said, smiling like a child himself as he poked his suckling daughter.

"You got a name for her?" One of the peacekeepers said, his voice shaking a little.

"Raven, Raven Rosemary," Carina breathed, her gratefulness obvious despite the exhaustion.

Rosemary grinned to hide the tightness in her throat. "Call me if something is wrong, Chow. I got to be going"

"There's bread in the basket, take the basket. We'll call you at least once more, you'll bring it back then," Chow said in her trembling but strong voice.

Grand, she could use the bread.

Rosemary gave the two kids waiting eagerly with their grandfather and uncle a big smile. "A big little girl, Raven. Your Ma's got to rest some more but she'll be alright."

They cheered, hugging each other and hugging her. The uncle even shook hands with the peacekeepers. The one who'd asked for the baby's name grasped Rosemary's arm roughly when they were away from the house.

"You all give birth like that?" He said, looking appalled.

Rosemary held his gaze. "We got one real doctor for all fifty thousand. Even when he's not busy, he's got no space to keep a woman heavy with child with him long. And it's some walk to get to his house. Too long when the waters are gone. Not all have got vehicles. It's not always that messy, most women give birth just fine in their house. Some die."

Rosemary heard the woman curse under her breath and felt a deep satisfaction rising in her chest. If enough peacekeepers started to want to help, maybe they would do some real good.

* * *

**Harrow Carter, 18, District Nine**

Harrow rubbed his raw chin and cheeks. His step-ma had forced him to shave for the reaping. At least he'd gotten no cuts this time. He had to admire the woman though, she got their father to shave. When his father was not driving the truck, he was drinking himself stupid. He brought back coin and was no mean drunk, just a bit dopy. Harrow just didn't understand why he did it. It's not like their life was bad.

He could see over the other boys. The escort sat next to one of the bowls, probably not wanting to start early, writing in a little book. He was dressed little, with gold and black armbands and a weird white robe with a leopard skin draped over it. He had a colorful disk-like necklace and a weird striped head cloth that also fell before his ears. Harrow had liked last year's costume better, with all the painted tattoos and long feathers on his head.

"Emmer, what is he supposed to be?" He asked, as his family escorted him to the eighteens section.

"Egyptian, someone important." Emmer huffed at the other's blank look. "You know, big river in the desert, cool gods with animal heads, pyramids."

Oh right, them. Filthy rich and then died because they married their siblings and had stupid children. Cool. Except he totally could have been cooler.

"Why didn't he come dressed as a mummy then? Those are the best!" Harrow said.

Emmer's face lit up. "So you did listen when I told you about ancient Egypt!"

Harrow faked a wounded expression. "I always listen!"

"Attention, District Nine."

Harrow clapped his brother on the back and hurried to his place. He bumped knuckles with Terrence when he saw him. He grinned at the red smudge on his face. "You've got lipstick on your cheek."

Terrence cursed and began wiping it off, looking smug all the same.

"Let's see who'll make history during this Sixty-third edition of the Hunger Games," Should-have-been-a-mummy said.

_Make history?_ Capitolites had such a funny way of seeing things.

"Harrow Carter!"

Ah bummer. His brain had just gone blank. Well at least he was shaved. The wall of boys before him turned and gave him space to come forth. He shook Terrence's hand off his arm.

"What a lad! You sure will be noticed," the escort said approvingly.

"Can I go as a mummy?" Harrow said, joking to keep himself from thinking. Egyptian Dude just stared at him before chuckling loudly. "Well... You just might if you insist."

Harrow felt like doing all sorts of crazy things right now. "Totally, what's your name again by the way, Sir?"

The crowd chuckled nervously as the escort scowled. "Aegis Lorrel. You've seen me at all your reapings, Boy."

True, but the man's clothes were so much more interesting than his name.

"Sorry, Mr. Lorrel. I didn't forget you, just your name, Sir," he said as polite as he could. He wouldn't get the mummy costume if the other was angry. He made himself believe that yes, mummy costumes _did_ matter right now.

"No harm done, Harrow. Any volunteers?" the man asked. Harrow's shoulders just sagged when no one spoke up.

"Then you will cheer for Harrow. Now..." He opened the paper slip from the girl's bowl. "Rosemary Shakra."

Harrow's head snapped back up._ No. No way! District Nine needed her, Fat Rose couldn't go!_

Apparently he wasn't the only one to think like that. The chatter coming from the crowd was deafening. At least three voices soon rose above the others'.

"I volunteer!"

A girl from the sixteens' was already nearing the platform.

Wow. Harrow had never been so proud of his district.

"You move back right this instant," Rose's healer voice cut the air. Harrow liked the normal voice better, it reminded him of his Ma, but the other tone was scary effective. "You volunteer for me and I'll go poisoning your whole family, even your dogs."

Harrow recoiled. She sounded dead set on that, her blue eyes making the sky look pale. His shoulders slumped again as she stomped up next to him. Her heart was too big to accept another to die for her but she was being a jarhead, now many would die. Her mother was only half the healer she was.

The peacekeepers had to intervene, blocking the platform. Aegis was scribbling something down. The two victors, Tramm the Hunter and Strong Miller, were muttering among themselves. Harrow gulped as he remembered their ages, 51 and 69. No one had won the Games since, and those before had been in the really early Games, before the Careers. They were dead now anyway. Reality came back crashing on him. He saw a kid get hit by a peacekeeper after saying something nasty.

"Settle down," he bellowed in the microphone, his deep voice causing everyone to go quiet. "This isn't helping."

"Rose?" Harrow said, going for his puppy-eyed look that always worked on women.

"I'm going to the Capitol, learn your plants and don't fool around with your bodies, you only got one," she said firmly.

So much for puppy eyes.

"Well, how about a little show of support for our two brave tributes," Aegis said, bringing his hands together. "And that's you too, Peacekeepers," he added sternly.

Harrow was stunned to see the uniformed men obey. He'd never really seen them as people before, with no kid he knew wanting to join them they'd always sort of just appeared places. He put his arm around Fat Rose. She was so pretty in her green dress with her thick auburn hair cascading around her kind face. He felt her lean against his back.

* * *

Mirna stormed in, her face murderous. She slapped his face. Harrow took a hold of her arms, stunned.

"Hey! I didn't go asking for it! I swear!"

"You were looking pretty thrilled at the idea of parading as an undead corpse," she growled

"Mirna, come on, you're going to shout at me?" Why did she always have to use big words?

"Oh yes, Harrow, I am. I am furious!"

Harrow stared at her, both hurt and awfully confused. Suddenly she was kissing him. He lifted her gently in his arms. When she put an end to the kiss, her brown eyes were still full of fire.

"This isn't over, Harrow," she warned him, leaving just as briskly.

Then Harrow got it. As long as they were fighting he had to come back and settle this. If he left at peace... Well maybe he'd fight less hard. He smiled, a sad loving smile, as Mirna unexpectedly came back in. She threw something at his feet.

"If you have to shag Fat Rose or any other one, or profess them undying love, do so. I trust you, even if I'll still beat you bloody for it."

His jaw was hanging open as his girlfriend exited the room again, this time for good. He couldn't believe what he'd just heard. He picked up the iron ring. He'd made it himself from a scrap of metal to celebrate their first season together.

Teff ran in yelling a battle cry, distracting him from his darkening thoughts.

"How many Careers can you squish with one wheat bag, Harrow?" He said, punching the air before him.

"Depends if there is wheat or another Career in the bag," Megan replied dryly, her green eyes moist.

Emmer was eyeing Harrow with contempt. "A mummy? Last famous lines of Harrow Carter, and it was for a mummy? You heard Aegis, Brother, how does a mummy make history?" The boy gulped, his voice breaking "A mummy is history!"

Harrow picked both Emmer and Megan up, letting them settle their cheeks on his shoulders.

"Want up! Want up too!" Teff said.

Harrow's father lifted the little boy up, letting him put his arms around the tribute's neck. The child nuzzled against his back.

"Dad, how about you save the bottle, so you'll really enjoy that drink when I get back," Harrow said with forced cheer. He heard his step-ma stifle a sob in his neck.

The graying man met his son's eyes. He nodded, his face dark. "I'll try, I promise."

Harrow saw Terrence open the door, the other boy stopped on seeing he was with his family. He pursed his lips before speaking.

"Harrow, I lied the other day. I'm the one who put the leaves in your yard. You want to know why, you have to come back," He slipped out with a grin, waving at Teff who pulled a face at him from his vantage point.

Harrow scowled, he knew it!

Megan snorted in his ear. "Well that's one hell of an incentive, a good thing Terrence was here to remind you why you must live."

"Ma. Do shut up," Emmer whispered, tightening his hold on Harrow.

"You don't tell Ma no nothing," Harrow chided. Megan had raised him for the last twelve years, more than his own Ma. Despite the vivid memories he still had of his father's first wife, he believed he owed the woman in his arms that.

Megan began to sob in earnest, causing Teff to pout and struggle to hug her too. Harrow sat down before the little boy could strangle him.

The peacekeepers found him on the floor, his family in his arms.

"Do you have a camera?" His father asked, causing his wife to snort lightly.

"Well actually, yes," a young man with a big beard answered in low tones, pulling a device out from his pocked.

"Is that a mobile phone? For real?" Emmer said, his sad eyes flickering with curiosity as he wiped his nose with the back of his hand.

"Just a phone," The man muttered uneasily. He snapped a few shots. "I'll print them for you, come in front the Mayor's House at six pm, I'll be there," he promised.

"Thank you, Sir," Harrow said.

* * *

**Rosemary Shakra, 18, District Nine **

Reaping day. Her fourteen year old brother Crisp had two tesserae to his name. Because their father thought that was being nice to her. It was only because Rosemary could see how desperately in love her mother was with that handsome man full of honeyed words that she didn't tell him being nice was moving his lazy ass and going to work, sparing them the need. Crisp already had eleven welts on his back for bringing back food from the woods. She wished he would stop trying so hard. She'd fought teeth and nail to keep them from needing more than those two slips, but with the twins growing, they badly needed more income. Healing couldn't bring back much money when those healed were poor. Her old man had worked a grand total of thirteen days this year. He'd brought home a dashing suit for Crisp and the dress she was wearing. It was so pretty, green like spring grass and cut low on her chest. If Crisp was reaped, she'd make him eat the dress.

He wasn't. Harrow Carter was.

Rosemary felt her heart plummet. She couldn't remember when her crush on the ruggedly handsome six foot boy had started. Maybe it was because he was all her father was not, strong and simple, devoted to his family. He'd dragged the boar they'd both shot down with poison-tipped arrows all the way back to the peacekeepers and sworn, hand over heart. She'd made the beast drink poison water and that the arrow pricks near its neck were just to check it was dead. He'd laughed all the way and never made it like she owed him something for doing that. Thinking back, Rosemary was glad little Teff had been there. Harrow had a girl. There were lines not to cross. Her insides twisted as he joked with the escort and asked for the man's name. That was Harrow all right, making you laugh when he was about to die. She swallowed, not wanting tears to make her waste the last moments she would see him for real.

"Rosemary Shakra."

She blinked multiple times. Her in the Games? With _Harrow_? She stepped out of her section in a daze. Voices snapped her back to reality. Volunteers. For her. She felt anger flare up inside her. No-one else would be dying and especially not to take her place!

"You volunteer for me and I'll go poisoning your whole family, even your dogs." she snapped, recognizing every one of them.

She stepped up next to Harrow, not meeting his eyes and wondering if she'd lost her mind. When she looked back, madness greeted her. She froze, she'd caused that? People shoving peacekeepers to let them volunteer? It wasn't right. Her brain refused to process what she was seeing. What had she done?

"Settle down! This isn't helping"

She jumped upon hearing Harrow's amplified voice, he was so grand, of course everyone would listen. He turned his warm brown eyes towards her, her cheeks threatened to burn as she met his pleading gaze.

"Rose?"

She truly was her mother's daughter. So selfish when it came to love. She wanted to be with Harrow, to make sure he got home.

"I'm going to the Capitol, learn your plants and don't fool around with your bodies, you only got one." She said into the microphone, her healer mask in place, knowing she had to look strong.

They all clapped, everyone, but Rosemary paid them no mind. Not when Harrow had his arms around her. She let herself rest against his strong chest.

* * *

Crisp came in shouting. "Why? They were there lining up for you! You'd saved them anyway, why didn't you let them!"

Rosemary buried her head in her hands and begun to sob. He spoke true. She had had no right to abandon him. And now so many pains would go unsoothed.

Gemma and Rye would never truly remember their older sister and she would never have the chance to kiss them goodbye since they'd stayed home, sick with the flu. She regretted her previous harsh thoughts about her father, wishing he was here with them. And no one would try to build bridges between the people and the peacekeepers anymore. Rosemary had spent all her little free time with her family but now wished she'd shared her dreams with a friend, that she'd taught the others more about what she'd found out about plants during the years.

"I just couldn't," she hiccupped, wiping her eyes. She saw understanding in Crisp's wet eyes but knew he was thinking she had morals about people dying like that. It should've been the first reason. She was such a disgraceful being.

"I understand," Her mother said, pulling her close. Rosemary hugged her back. Yes she did. The elder Shakra had recognized her look in her eyes as she spoke of Harrow even before her daughter had become aware of her own feelings.

She pried her and Crisp away from her when she realized the voices behind the little room's door were accompanied by the sound of striking flesh. She hurried out, worried. She immediately recognized the peacekeeper holding his bleeding nose as the one who'd asked for little Raven's name. He'd sent medicine to Carina in the evening after the birth.

"You should be ashamed," she told the crowd as she knelt next to him, fury swirling in her blue eyes. "You don't hit no-one. You don't hit him. Who here thinks their words can help me more than my Ma's goodbyes? Who wants to keep my brother from saying his?"

None of the dozen standing people said a word. She saw tears running down some of their faces.

_So disgraceful._

"I'm so sorry," she said softly, "I just want you to live happy. I don't want to have people hurt because of me."

Yeast, a boy whose leg she'd set straight after a bad fall, walked up to her and crouched too.

"No, we're sorry, go back to your Ma. I'll help him."

"Thank you, Yeast. Please accept his help, take care of them," she whispered to the peacekeeper, giving his hand a squeeze.


	11. District 10: Errands and Scowls

**Chester Fowl, « Messenger », 17, District 10**

"Could you please buy me these pills? I find it harder and harder to get around."

"Of course Mrs. Silage," Chester replied with a smile.

"Thank you, Dear," The old lady replied in her quivering voice.

_Tough as an unripe nut, that one._ Chester thought, remembering how the woman had already been walking with a cane when he'd started delivering mail, three years before. Few people reached threescore years, even fewer among those who lived alone.

His run was two hundred and sixty miles long, a loop of three towns and four dozen farms. His motorbike was heavy from the packs and letters, most of which bore unpleasant news. He rarely refused to render a service. It was the better part of his job, getting close to the people. He left Mrs. Silage's house for the second time that morning with a small smile on his plain features. He smoothed his shoulder-length tied back brown hair out of habit. He felt ill at ease when his appearance was unkempt, something his older brother never left him alone with.

"Hi there, Messenger!"

Chester hid a wince. Peacekeepers. They usually had ridiculous demands.

"I've got a letter here for my sweet sister. You wouldn't mind giving it to her, would you?"

"No, Sir," Chester said, not daring to feel relieved just yet.

The peacekeeper gave him a little smile and started speaking with his two colleagues again. Obviously dismissed, Chester went on his way. He stopped as soon as he was out of sight to take a closer look at the fat letter he'd been given. District Six. This was to be sent to _District Six_. Peacekeepers had their own channels, email mostly. Letters between districts were exceedingly rare, Chester didn't have the clearance to send them. Unfortunately peacekeepers had the clearance to punish him if he failed to deliver. He wracked his brain. Six, basic medicine and transportation. Who would have direct dealings with Six around here?

The lady from the drugstore couldn't help him, neither did the bike seller from the next town. Chester was beginning to worry. He'd long ago learned that peacekeepers didn't take 'impossible' for an answer. He suddenly had an idea. Transport. Mechanics. Ivan didn't live far. The man repaired all kinds of broken down vehicles. He had to order specific and even rare parts on short notice, he had to know people directly.

"Ivan, I need a service."

"That's a bad sentence to greet a man with, Messenger," the broad-chested Ivan said with a lopsided smile, "but at least you're honest, Lad. What do you want?"

"Do you have contacts in Six?"

Ivan nodded. "That I do, what of it?"

"Enough to pass a letter? Before the end of the week?"

Ivan grimaced. "I got contacts, not friends. They might not accept, but I'll ask."

Chester gave the older man a tight smile. "That's all I expect. Thanks, Ivan."

And he was off again. Always on the move. He waved as he passed two kids who were dutifully carting grain across the street.

He waved. "Hello, Jaggary, Amandine."

"No letters for us, Messenger?" the girl asked, with a crooked toothy smile.

Chester grinned back. "Not today."

"Bye," the two waved before groaning, their little muscles tensing from effort as they pushed the heavy cart.

* * *

"Home, Sweet home," Chester sing sung, stripping naked and jumping into the barrel full of water that was waiting for him just before the front door. It was his turn to wash first that day and he relished the feel of clean, well, mostly clean, water against his skin.

After a few minutes, a weathered but striking brunette poked her head out of the door.

"Thought I'd heard you ages ago! You got ice for blood, Chester. Get in before you turn into a fish," the woman said, a big towel on her arm.

"Has Mallard come back yet, Mum?"

"'Course, and waiting for his _sister_ to stop lounging in the frigging bath," the older boy said, crossing his arms with a mocking smirk.

Chester stiffened at the insult and jumped out of the barrel. He grabbed his brother's neck in a headlock before dunking it in the lukewarm water. He counted to ten in his head before letting the older boy breathe.

"You're forgetting I outgrew you, Big Brother. You ought not to say stuff like that."

Copra Fowl cleared her throat, handing the towel she was still holding to a very naked Chester.

The boy grinned, slightly embarrassed. "Thanks, Mum."

Mallard cuffed Chester playfully, before removing his clothes and letting himself sink in the now grayish water with a shiver.

"Love you too, Mallard," Chester airily said, hurrying back inside.

His father was already back and obviously cooking some meat in the kitchen. It had been a very long day.

Chester picked up Azura as the cat went to rub against him. He sat on the sofa and set the purring creature on his knees, waiting to dry off a little before pulling on new clothes.

"So, is the goat making any milk yet?"

"No. But she's pregnant alright. It shouldn't be long." Copra said with a happy smile. Goat milk and little goat kids was something to look forward to.

"What are we eating? Smells great."

Kale Fowl broke into a big belly laugh, surprising the boy.

"What? it does," Chester said, nonplussed.

"Rats! Juicy, vitamin-filled rats. Thank Esmeralda, although Azura did a fine job with catching one herself. The sewers were flushed today, remember? Our little darlings caught a dozen. Rats today and rats tomorrow." His father chuckled. "But they do smell better than I'd have thought. I'll char them a bit to make sure I cook the filth off them."

Chester bit his cheek thoughtfully. "Well field mice have never been too bad. I'm not turning my nose up at fat rats."

Azura leaped off his knees and pranced out of the room, as if she knew she was one of the providers of the house. Such a lady that old cat, with silver-blue hair that shone in any weather.

Copra smiled. "None of us are. How was your day, Darling?"

Chester sighed, a helpless smile gracing his lips. "You know that peacekeeper who gave me a letter for his sister in Six?"

Copra's eyes narrowed in worry. "Woman received that letter, you told me. They gave you trouble?"

Chester chuckled weakly. "Oh no, he was very happy with me. He told me he'd go through me for any further mail now."

Copra groaned, pulling her son into a hug.

"We could give that contact of yours some things to slip to whoever in Six is helping you out. Some seeds for corn or something. Here it's worthless, there probably not," Godwit said.

Chester turned to stare at his uncle. The man was huge, he kept all the water in his body. He was so bloated he could hardly walk, but he reminded them every day just how smart he was.

"I hadn't thought of that, Uncle, you're brilliant."

The brown-haired man scratched his side with a smug expression. "You're not trashing me anytime soon."

"We're not trashing you, Godwit," Copra said with an indulgent smile, "you're too old to doubt your own family anymore."

* * *

**Rachel Galloway, 16, District 10**

The Altai family had been breeding horses for the Capitol for the last eight generations. They'd survived the Dark Days and no-one was allowed to forget it.

Livestock was treated very well in Ten. There was grain enough to support herds of fat cows, vaccines to get all the lambs to adulthood and special pig food that made them all tastier. There was enough space for chickens and rabbits to grow healthy and the best of machinery not to waste a scrap of meat or shred of hide or wool. The Altais bred the most beautiful horses and they were well off: their children weren't gaunt and didn't have to work. Healthy and idle, the best anyone could ask for. But although the animals were well fed, the population was not. The Capitol knew how many beasts every citizen owned and made sure every single person gave them the lion's share. Every year some fed the cows' grain to their children and the resulting orphans replaced the ones who'd died from accidents the year before in the slaughterhouses.

Rachel's father was a vet, one of the fifty in Ten. Still the number was too few. It was almost unheard of a veterinarian not being the son or daughter of one since there were no public secondary schools, and while vets lost few patients, the cures that worked so well on animals did not exist to protect humans from the illnesses that crossed species. Rachel had had an older brother and a mother once. Now it was just the two of them. The active girl had learned not to get attached to anything on two legs, it just caused one unnecessary pain. She couldn't help loving her father dearly, but she stayed well clear of strangers.

"So?" Mr. Altai asked, as arrogant as always.

Rachel tapped the electronic touchscreen with her black nails and flicked magenta dyed black hair out of her face, making it obvious she wouldn't hurry for his sake.

"Which of my foals will have to be put down?" Altai hissed, wringing his hands now.

Rachel finished checking the files. "Three of the twenty-one show an unsatisfactory match to pedigree standards, twelve are borderline, six are excellent matches," she said in bored tones.

The man's relief was palpable but didn't affect his rudeness. "Show me them, Girl."

"Mr. Altair, if you treat me like a lowly brat, I might just make the same mistakes a lowly brat would when handling the horses," Rachel said, her all too common scowl marring her features.

Altair bristled. "You care about the beasts too much, Galloway."

_True, but I have my pride, you of all people should understand_, Rachel thought, heading back for the stables she'd just exited.

"Four of the better matches should not be let reproduce in the same line, the foals have a too high chance of developing congenital diseases," she informed him.

"Can't you cure those?" the taller man spat, a bitter cast to his features.

Rachel didn't even bother answering. Too much inbreeding was never profitable in the long term. She knew Altai knew that and would do as she said. It was peculiar how picky the Capitol was about their horses when it was known they went through four different fashions in a single year.

"I'm done, Dad," she said, walking up to their own two loaded geldings. It was much easier to get around the fields with them than any car they could've afforded.

"Good. I'm glad it was just routine," the gray-haired Kaulkin said, wiping his brow.

Rachel smiled wryly. The Altais were even more of a pain when something was wrong.

The two had covered less than a quarter-mile when Kaulkin's phone rung.

"Dr. Galloway. Yes?" The man flipped a notebook open with one hand. "How old is your ewe? How long has it been like that? Have you noticed any change in eating habits? Very well, I'm on my way." Kaulkin turned to his daughter. "One of Halsband's prized ewes is convulsing."

"Convulsing?" Rachel scowled suspiciously. "As in trembling or really convulsing?"

It wouldn't be the first time someone went over the top for something benign.

"He was too panicked to make much sense. But his vaccines are due anyway."

Rachel nodded, urging Storm on.

* * *

Rachel didn't live far from the shearing sheds, so the girl had grown up with the wool pressers' kids, making fast friends, her heart still too young to know better. Some of those children had moved to relatives offering them better work, others were still helping their parents with the pressing, a few had died. Of their close knit group of five, only Aries remained. No-one would ever have bet on his chances. The albino boy was sickly and skinny as a dry twig, even his smile didn't add color to his face. Yet there he was, with his permanent cough, leading the sheep into the pens for shearing, while stronger men already took a break.

Her father had given her the day off, so Rachel had run to help Aries in the sheds, hoping to catch up. Despite the stink of sheep and the awful racket the beasts made awaiting the shearing, it was one of the places she loved best. They raged about unfair wool brokers and laughed at Rachel's anecdotes about ignorant cattleman. They spoke of hardship, not daring to mention the Capitol out loud, but making wild dreams about the future, but mostly, they spoke of girls.

"Did you know that Micky asked me if I was a ghost two days ago?" Aries said, looking pained.

Rachel stifled a grin. Poor Aries, first time in ages he talked to his crush just to discover the pretty brunette wasn't as clever and all-perfect as he'd imagined.

"At least she's been thinking about you," Rachel said with a grin.

"Yeah!" Aries said, perking up significantly.

Rachel laughed. "Why Micky? Maverick is so much nicer and cuter."

"Who's Maverick?"

Rachel pulled her _Are you kidding me? _face at him.

"Tall, long legs hidden under those long purple skirts she wears, big red lips, wavy chestnut hair."

Aries seemed to be thinking hard. "Breasts?"

"A bit larger than mine."

Aries glanced at Rachel's breasts before smiling slightly. "Yep, I see just the girl," he said, earning himself a slap on the arm.

"Right, slap me. You didn't even have to think to describe her breasts to me."

This time Rachel cuffed him, harder. Aries was the only person to which she'd confided her worries about wanting to be with girls just as much as he did. But it was not something to talk about, not after her father had told her quite earnestly that girls liking girls that way didn't exist the one time she'd asked. Her father wouldn't have lied. Either she was a freak or it was something forbidden, either way she'd never broached the subject with him again.

"Don't you find her, I dunno, too serious?" Aries said, with a worried expression that made Rachel laugh.

"She's working for Rover. He hires only smart and serious. She's mature, I like her."

"Better I keep my eyes on Micky then, wouldn't want to infringe," Aries said, dropping his voice to a teasing whisper.

Rachel's smile grew bitter. "Well, I just think Maverick could use a laugh and you're a great mood lifter."

Aries' eyes softened as he poked his friend's little nose. "She's smart and pretty. She'll find a good guy."

Rachel didn't want Maverick to find a guy.

"I really don't know how you do it," Rachel said. She was always mystified by his ability to take hardship in stride and turn it into something light.

Aries just smiled as he pushed a reluctant sheep back in line with the others. He put his hand up to his mouth as a cough wracked his whole body. He chuckled.

"Look at me, Rachel. They'd always spoken of me in whispers, 'the albino', 'that poor sick boy', 'this winter will take him'. But I refused to give up. I love life, I really do, I don't just trudge through it, hoping I won't suffer too much. No one will take that away from me, and as you can see, Death's not in a hurry about knocking on my door either." He winked, stifling another cough. "That's my secret."

Rachel kissed his cheek. Was it really all about willpower? She wished she had his ability to brighten a room just by existing. He looked so content.

* * *

**Chester Fowl, "Messenger", 17, District 10**

Two sharp knocks rattled the wooden front door.

Chester jolted awake. Not that he had slept much. He always slept soundly, except on days like this, because Reaping Day did that to you.

"Who are you, and what the hell do you want?" He heard his father snap.

It was still gray outside, barely past seven. From his father's sharp tone, it wasn't peacekeepers.

"We have a profitable business arrangement for the Messenger. He lives here, no?"

Chester frowned, he pulled on the clothes from the day before and hurried up to his father.

"It's alright," he muttered soothingly to the two hissing cats. "Yes, they attack strangers," he added with a small smile, his eyes lingering pointedly on Esmeralda's muscled frame.

The sandy-haired man in front of his father took a step back.

"Business with my son will not be conducted out of my sight," Kale warned, stepping outside and shutting the door behind him.

The leader of the four men just shrugged. "As you wish, Sir."

"Who are you? What do you want?" Chester asked, cautious.

"You handle all the mail for this part of the District. We want to know who's on tesserae and how many."

Chester knew indeed. Little orange slips, telling the inhabitants at what time they could get their monthly supply of oil and grain. He could probably give those men accurate figures.

"The justice buildings has those records too," he pointed out.

The sandy-haired man pursed his lips. "Illegal to access. I know some people still do, but I'd rather not risk it."

Chester nodded. "Why do you want them and what are you offering me?" Although he already had his suspicions about the first.

A lanky balding man spat on the ground. "Why to bet, of course. Doesn't do the children no harm but could be our chance at some real money. We got three decent egg hens and a scrawny cock for your trouble," he said, jerking his thumb towards the small, donkey-pulled cart on the road. "Can't keep them anyway, don't have the ruddy license."

People could only keep a limited number of animals for their own use, unless they had licences. Chester nodded to his father who went to check out the hens.

"Do you have a list of the tributes?"

"Yep," the sandy-haired man said with a smile.

Chester repressed a sight. This felt so wrong, but it was food for his family and didn't affect who would become a tribute. It was just accepting what the Capitol did and making a profit from it. He saw his mother and Mallard were watching from inside. He gave a grudging nod.

"It'll take me at least half an hour. And just because you have the tesserae list doesn't mean your tribute will get picked. Many people are on tesserae."

No Chester really didn't like this, if those men lost and blamed him then, it could mean trouble. And people might hate him for what they'd believe a breach of privacy.

One of the men barked a laugh at his hesitant expression. "Kid, I got a daughter of reaping age. No one here is going to bet. We'll just sell the list to the fools who do, so we're sure to make profit. Your name won't be whispered nowhere. We do what we must, but district folk still got to watch out for each other."

The lanky man who'd spat on the ground shot the other an ugly look before turning to Chester. "No word of that, Messenger. We did nothing, you did nothing, got it?"

"Sure," Chester liked this much better. If they were afraid of being blackmailed, they'd leave him alone.

He started filling the list.

* * *

He stood tall among the seventeen year olds. Just two more reapings. Just two more. And then his family would be safe and he'd just enjoy the post-reaping feast with the rest of the district. Enjoy it as much as anyone could, anyway.

The reapings was a chaotic mess. People came running in until the very last second. It instantly went from messy to ordered as soon as the escort cleared her throat. Chester remembered delivering her a letter on her first day in Ten, the year before. He knew she was only twenty under all that caked up make-up and wondered if she felt anything for the tributes. Chester couldn't help noticing that her red shoes rested on big, sparkly springs instead of heels. A spring in her step, literally.

The boy almost broke into tears. If only the Capitol used half the creativity and energy they devoted to fashion to help people, the world would be a blissful place.

Fabula Torres recited all the words perfectly. She reminded Chester of Ivy, the know-it-all from his primary school years. The escort was pathetically desperate to do things well.

The young mailman was afraid his heart may break out of his ribcage when the green-haired woman opened the boys' slip.

"Chester Fowl."

Chester waited for his heart to actually burst. It didn't. He was almost disappointed. He forced himself to relax and headed towards the platform, imagining he was Azura, always so dignified. It was show time now, he'd give them what they wanted if it meant a chance at life.

* * *

The reaped girl lived just outside the town. He'd already exchanged a few words with Kaulkin Galloway. A vet. The Capitol was intent on bleeding them dry this year. He almost felt pride at the amount of shouts of protest his reaping had caused. At least people cared. Not that it helped him any.

"Had I known, I'd have brought you Esmeralda as a token. She'd sure cover your ass," Mallard said, a murderous expression on his face. He shook Chester's shoulders. "I would've volunteered you know. Every single year up to last I could've volunteered!"

Chester clasped his arms. "Call me selfish, I'm glad you couldn't," he said.

It was a lie. Right now, he desperately wanted his big brother to volunteer for him, but Chester hoped he'd not die like thinking like that. He really wanted to be brave.

His parents were standing next to the door, hand in hand, looking miserable and helpless. Copra was shaking her head.

"We don't really complain, about the Games," she said in low tones, "we don't, because the odds of losing a kid to the Games are so small and because our kids would be sure to suffer if we did complain, but then... then you get reaped, and there is no one to complain for you."

Chester found tears escaping his eyes. He didn't want her to say more. It was dangerous to speak like that, very dangerous. He hugged her tightly before returning his father's embrace.

"They're not coming," Mallard finally said, his fury evident despite his low tone.

Chester looked down. Amalthea and Charles had been his best friends during childhood, but time had caused them to grow apart. Still, he loved them dearly, it hurt not to see them here.

"Leave them a minute to apologize before pummeling them, please," he muttered, wondering what their excuse could be.

Mallard grunted noncommittally.

"Time's over," a peacekeeper said.

"The token's idiotic," Mallard warned, throwing him something long and thin.

A rat's tail. The one from Azura's fat rat. Mallard kept the oddest things.

Chester felt his lips twitch despite the horror of the situation. "Nice," he whispered to himself, finally letting go of his mother's hand.

* * *

**Rachel Galloway, 16, District 10**

"Sir, you and your daughter are to report to the reapings immediately. "

"This cow will go lame if I can't finish performing the weaning properly, Sir. I need twenty minutes more," Kaulkin said, in a strained voice.

"We're aware. The girl cannot attend the reapings dressed like this. Surely you don't need her help at this stage."

Rachel had to force herself not to scowl. Peacekeepers were polite to them but only as long as they were extra polite back. They could get ugly very quickly if they didn't like someone's tone. She'd lost track of the time, dangerously so.

"Go, Rachel, I'll catch up."

"I'll escort her," one of the men said, breaking into a trot and gesturing she follow him.

The patrol of five peacekeepers had all sturdy, well groomed mounts which they rarely got off of, even in the town squares. Horses kept people calm and subdued, it avoided trouble for everyone. Rachel smiled slightly as she urged the gelding forward. She loved riding fast, and visibly the peacekeeper had no fear of speed either. She wasn't thrilled about leading him to their house, believing the less attention these people paid to her family, the better. At least the man didn't speak.

"You have six minutes to change. I want you in your section in fifteen minutes," the law enforcer said when they reached the house.

Nine minutes to the edge of town? Rachel caught herself in time. No one questioned peacekeepers. She hastily unloaded Storm, putting the heavy packs medicine on the ground and rushed into the house. She was ready in four, in a black and red dress that reached her knees, black laced boots and hastily brushed hair. The man gave her a once over, his face unreadable.

"Get on your horse and keep up."

The man was a spectacular rider. Rachel had never ridden so fast since she had seen a mare lamed by a fall. It was exhilarating. She hadn't a care in life anymore, it was just her and Storm, hooves rhythmically striking the soft ground, wind easing the early fall heat and taking her breath away. As she arrived near the town's main bridge, Rachel couldn't believe she was still in one piece. The escort had not climbed onto the platform yet.

"Thank you," she found herself saying to the peacekeeper as she tied her horse next to others. Late potential tributes who didn't have an excellent excuse, usually involving a life or death situation, always paid dearly for it.

The man didn't answer. Rachel walked up to the amassed sixteen year olds. Like all her reapings, she marveled at the sheer amount of people in Ten. Just the tributes themselves numbered the thousands. The thrill of the ride faded as soon as Fabula Torres' all too enthusiastic voice echoed in the square. Twelve slips to her name. Her and her father needed to be strong and healthy in their line of work, they couldn't afford to survive on meager meals. Twelve slips among thousands. Nothing really.

Chester Fowl was reaped. He wasn't from town but everyone knew him. The Messenger. His cat Azura was one of the most beautiful her father had ever operated. Chester had the same annoyed look as when someone asked him why he hadn't delivered a letter or pack earlier. The _there are forces beyond my control_ look. The last boy tribute had had to be bodily dragged to the platform; Chester walked with his head high. For the second time in her life, Rachel would know someone who entered the Games, and that made her furious. She stared at the floor, forcing herself not to show her anger despite the shouts of protest in the crowds. Shouts of protest that soon died on their own, like they did every year. No one volunteered, guilt written on many a boy's face. That was the magic of the Capitol, making people feel they were cowards on a day like this. Rachel held her breath.

"The girl tribute is Rachel Galloway!"

And swallowed it. She stayed rooted on the spot. First from shock, then from spite. Even as people moved away from her after some town girls pointed as if she had the plague, she stood unmoving, her defiant hazel eyes betraying her wish to scream.

"Move," a male voice said, giving her a slight slap on the back. It was the same peacekeeper that had gotten her to the reapings on time. He'd spared her a whipping just to allow her to hear her own death sentence. Life was such a bitch. She moved, aware the scowl on her face didn't make her any prettier but unable to wipe it off.

* * *

"Dad, just don't," she found herself snapping when the man entered the justice building with tearful eyes.

Kaulkin's lips twitched. "You never will face hardship with tears, will you? No. Tantrums and tantrums ever since you were a tiny toddling girl. You already stole your mother's nail-polish then."

Rachel pulled the man into a fierce hug. It would be over quickly for her, whether she lost or won. Her father only had her. She took a deep breath, speaking words she'd thought she'd never speak.

"Have Dahlia move in with you. You can start a new life. Even I can see she makes you happy."

Although why was a mystery to Rachel, she disliked Dahlia with a passion, but despite Rachel's obvious hostility and attempts to make it hard for the two of them, her father had continued seeing the younger woman for two years. Rachel couldn't ignore their feelings for each other anymore.

Kaulkin didn't answer, he just held her. He didn't let her go when Aries came in and gave her his hand woven wool bracelet.

"Folk tales say albino are lucky, and not just to ourselves," the albino boy had said. He'd just stared at her for the longest time with those big pale eyes of his before having to leave. There was really nothing to say. Rachel knew he'd check on her father.

She wanted to be angry but she just felt sick, sick to the core.


	12. District 11: Tricks and Slavery

**So, the penultimate reaping chapter and then we move on to the really interesting stuff.**

**Thank you to everyone who has read and reviewed up to this point.  
**

* * *

**Legacy Harvester, "Mesmer", 15, District 11**

No less than twelve shiny baubles appeared to be pursuing each other as a skinny boy juggled. Translucent, they drew fairy-lights patterns on the ground. A bluish D appeared in the middle of a colored circle before the baubles burst into flames. A collective intake of breath interrupted the mournful wails of the bereaved. When the baubles exploded in the tank containing the body, causing flames to reach the sky, a chant of prayer rose from the small crowd.

His arms now limp by his sides, Mesmer respectfully backed away from the pyre. The magician wondered to what being they prayed. There was talk of old gods, of more recent gods that each were the only one, but they were of the past. Once, gods had mattered to him, but he had never gleaned more than sparse smidgens of information. People had to have truly believed in them once, with some prayers being passed on and all the cursing about gods' names.

Mesmer had never been asked to perform at a funeral before, but Cora was a theatric woman. The baker had no intention to let her son go without fanfare. Cora wept as she gave him a large basket full of baked goods. She stroked his cheek with a rough hand as he accepted with a solemn expression. He fought the urge to flee. So much food at once, in plain sight. It would be dangerous to carry as soon as the funeral was over.

He was dressed with a flowing pale robe which hid how underfed he was, leaving only his agile hands and bald head out. His face had to be one of the most stunning in Eleven. His skin was as dark as a moonless night but even without having ever met his parents, he knew he came from mixed stock: his angelic traits would've made any man or woman ache to give him food had it not been for his eyes. His eyes were disquieting, of a green so vibrant they seemed to glow. They served him well. He was Mesmer the magician, eerie and incredible with his tricks.

Mesmer remembered a childhood surviving on others' pity. Someone smuggling him food, another giving him an errand, until he'd begun to watch the fire-dancers with their flaming staves and mouthfuls of fire. He'd decided he could do better than them. He had. His knives and ribbons were his life insurance. There were no thieves, no beggars, no large groups of wandering children in the streets. No, Sir. Peacekeepers kept the place respectable. Only the homeless with a talent had a chance. Mesmer distracted people, made them laugh and complain less for a time, so he got patted on the head. Then, there were the girls. The girls had better be very tough when they chose the path: they also serviced peacekeepers, who weren't so bad with them, but that got them food and clothes just better enough than the average folk to get them hated and despised.

Mesmer made the loaves and muffins disappear inside the robe he'd been given for the ceremony, glad his own clothes underneath had enough pocket-space to hide a small child. He would make himself sick by gorging on them and they weren't the kind that kept more than a few days. He didn't have so much trouble getting stale bread nowadays, better put them to better use.

* * *

He was in the middle of a living room, everyone but the snoring, wasted mother, was washing clothes and had yet to notice him.

"Ga!"

Mesmer's eyes crinkled, trust the baby to have the best eyes.

"Whoa," a boy maybe half his age exclaimed, dropping the shorts he was washing into the basin.

The gaunt man that had been thrashed the day before by peacekeepers, his back still marked by swollen welts, rose abruptly, groaning from pain in the process. Four children, the oldest maybe nine, and a man that would struggle to find a job now that the peacekeepers had made it obvious they didn't like him. People liked it when others angered the peacekeepers, they drew strength from it, respected them. But not enough to give the troublemakers jobs in fear of putting their own families in danger.

"I have food. I want the dress, to make ribbons."

"I'm never selling my wife's wedding dress," the man spluttered.

Mesmer let his expression become one of honest confusion, inwardly sighing at the other's stubbornness.

"I'm offering your daughter a chance not to let that cough turn into something worse, winter is coming. It's just an old dress"

His voice was innocent, as if he couldn't understand why the man kept the thing. Frankly, Mesmer couldn't understand why he kept the wife even if booze came cheaper than bread.

Ten minutes later he had the dress, one entire loaf still warm against his chest. He'd enjoy it with Zephyranth that evening.

* * *

Mesmer glanced at the sun, having learned to estimate the time to the quarter-hour. Late. Zephyranth always sent little words, it told him she was fine. This particular message was taking its own good time. Mesmer decided to track his girlfriend down. One could never be too careful and he had already eaten the day before, he could call it a night. He broke into a run.

He found her pinned against a wall by a wiry man who held her side firmly. Their eyes met. She blinked three times. Get him off, that meant. The fourth blink was for _permanently._

Mesmer eyes flashed.

Zephyranth pushed the man away as he drowned in his own blood, Mesmer's knife having gone right through his throat. The man had had a dagger in his free hand.

"Should've guessed, he was being way too calm about it," the girl huffed, long ringlets of ebony hair with golden strands falling over her low cut dress. She inspected her clothes and smiled when she saw no blood stains.

Mesmer chuckled. "Hardly your fault, can't refuse everyone who doesn't look decent."

They walked hand in hand into a more peaceful street. She kissed him lightly on the lips, the spark to her almond eyes a better indicator of her affection. Mesmer hoped he could one day make her appreciate again any form of erotic contact. For Zephyranth, he knew tying her shoes was a more emotional gesture than sleeping with a man. She would do it if he asked, like any girl in love would accompany their boyfriend to a boring lecture if it made him truly happy, but he didn't want it, not like this.

"Got any more of that wonderful bread," she said, licking her red lips.

"I could murder one of the baker's children. She does have eight left," Mesmer replied with a small smile.

Zephyranth appeared to think about it. She then giggled.

"We grow more awful by the day, Mesmer."

Mesmer grinned back. He liked to see her smile. He then cocked an eyebrow. "Can you imagine nine children?"

Zephyranth lowered her voice. "I might've already had a few if it wasn't for Delphin."

The boy's hand tightened over hers. They'd already known each other when she'd started selling herself when she'd reached legal age, twelve, four years before. He'd thought she would have told him had she had to abort. He knew she really wanted a child of her own, deep down.

"Not like that, Mess," she giggled, using the surname for when she found him stupid, "he gave me contraception, different from the one here. With the one they have in Four they only get the babies they want, maybe one more sometimes. Not like here."

He'd never thought about it like that, faulty contraception that forced people to have many kids. "You see Delphin often?"

"He's got a lady waiting for him back home. He was upset about cheating before, but I got him convinced it's no cheating with me. He pays well, talks to me like a child with wool for brains but he's kind."

"Sort of easy to convince," Mesmer pointed out, unable to feel totally at ease with Zephyranth's job, even after all these years.

"I'm rather glad when it's the nice ones lack willpower, if you don't mind me saying so." the girl said, a hand resting on her left hip.

Mesmer chuckled, he found it lovely that she fancied herself a lady. It had taken her years to cull her speech from slurs acquired in childhood, but the touch of property kept her safer since she attracted another kind of men. Just like his efforts at proper speech kept him safer. Peacekeepers tended to favor the person who spoke the most convincingly in a fight and by speaking more like them, it was harder for them not to see him as human.

* * *

**Apple Coppicing, 18, District 11**

Apple woke up at the toll of the bell, at the crack of dawn, like every other morning. She shared a room with six other women, their ages ranging from fifteen to twenty-eight. They all worked for Fenthion, in his orchards, from dawn till dusk in the summer.

"Morning, girls!" Livia said cheerfully.

The short girl made for half the conversation among the bunks. Apple couldn't see where she got her good mood from. They dressed quickly with their washed-out clothes and went outside, to catch a meager meal with the other three dozen workers, male and female. They would have nothing more before the evening.

She headed towards the peach trees, carrying a heavy keg linked to a hose. She began to spray the pesticides on the ripening fruit. She coughed as she inhaled some of the chemicals. Her sense of taste and smell had been burnt away by the products she used long ago. Fenthion needed them healthy enough to work but they just needed strong arms for that.

The mixed-race girl worked efficiently, her eyes dull. She felt old and worn. Every day was the same. She was too tired to enjoy the girls' company in the shed they slept in and she had no hope of getting a better job soon. Sometimes she wondered if there was a point to life.

Fenthion had bought her off her parents, despite such traffics being illegal. Apple had fetched a good price, she figured her four siblings were better off now. She hadn't seen them in three years.

Clementine had run away the previous year. She'd been a beauty, Fenthion had gone too far with her. Something his wife didn't seem to mind too much. Apple didn't have the courage to run away. She kept waiting for something good to happen, because some days, she thought something good just might.

"Heave!" Liam said, as the three workers lifted the crate of freshly picked fruit into the big refrigerated truck.

When the truck was full, the tall twenty-year old locked the storage zone, climbed down the truck and gifted them with a dazzling smile.

"Nice work, we're early. We can even take a minute to look at the clouds." He twisted his head sideways. "Look, I'd say this one is a hanged man!"

Apple had to smile. Liam had so much anger inside him, but he let it out with little cheerful comments. He complimented people on their work, he complimented her, personally, from time to time.

"Man's alive, he's sure kicking," she replied in her raw voice, gazing at the orange sky.

"As he should, best to go down fighting," Liam said, winking at her.

Apple wondered if he knew how much the sliver of attention from him warmed her heart.

"Makes the agony longer, though," Chard said, next to her.

"Makes your life longer too," Liam said, vehemently.

"Why do that when you're to hang? There's no purpose to it."

"Cause we got big and noble purposes otherwise?" Apple said dryly. "It's just life for life's sake."

Liam beamed at her, the hardness never fading from his eyes.

They talked sometimes, just the two of them, short and mostly meaningless talks. But Apple found herself wanting those talks to be more common. She wasn't the most comely or the funnier girl around but Liam had no girl, so maybe he was looking for other things in a woman. Maybe one day he'd really notice her. Apple didn't dare really talk to him. She didn't want her only hopes to be crushed. He was one of the little things that made her days brighter.

* * *

**Legacy Harvester, "Mesmer", 15, District 11**

The useless workers hadn't even bothered to properly flatten the ground. Mesmer's bare feet dug into the mud. He had no intention on wasting his only pair of shoes. He escorted Zephyranth to the sixteens' pen, his glare silencing every comment. The girls from the outlying orchards shot others confused looks, not understanding what the deal about the girl with the straightened dyed hair seemed to be. A couple of her acquaintances, hookers both of them, were already standing in a corner, their clothes outshining by far the other teens'.

"Karma, Celeste," Mesmer greeted politely before kissing his girlfriend's hand and heading over to his place.

"Being cuckold doesn't seem to bother him."

Mesmer snapped around and stared hard at the tall girl who had spoken. He knew that all the onlookers were focused on his face, oblivious to the arm reaching for one of his numerous pockets.

"Don't pretend to judge what you know nothing of," he said, his voice laced with rage.

He was long gone before someone realized the whole lower part of her dress was ruined.

The escort looked down at them with disgust, the frills on her wide hat moving to the rhythm of her fan.

"Settle down Eleven, you are human beings, not cattle."

Mesmer snorted._ Only when convenient to you, Dear Lady._

"The 63rd boy tribute is to be...Legacy Harvester."

The name his blood had read after analysis on his first reaping.

_Brilliant._

Mesmer walked out of the crowd, a spring in his step. Fury was an emotion he'd learned to master well. Unfairness was a fact of life. Yet he hated them all. He was paying for a crime he hadn't committed. At least had his parents left him more than his loaded birth name, had he not been on his own for as long as he could remember, maybe then would he have thought it was worth it.

A high pitched laugh cut through the crowd. The tall girl with the ruined dress.

_How dare she!_

Mesmer flicked his wrist. The bitch had a thin knife embedded in her frizzy hair before most could blink, a small red line oozing droplets of blood on her cheek. Zephyranth and her friends laughed loudly at her shrill screams. Mesmer bowed with a genuine smile.

A disgruntled looking peacekeeper grabbed his arm. They'd done a quick search on everyone for weapons. Of course they'd found none on him.

"I've got no quarrel with you, Sir. I'm a magician, my aim is not to disturb the peace," he said only for the man to hear. He still was escorted to the stage but the man's grip wasn't bruising.

"There was no need for that," the escort muttered, her eyes riveted on his face.

"I'm not sure I like people laughing at my impeding death," Mesmer replied with a pout.

He knew he looked absolutely irresistible like that, and inwardly jubilated at the dark glances shot at the still shaking girl's direction.

Anger flashed on the escort's face before being replaced by a cheery fake smile. "Well, still no need for that. The girl this year is Apple Coppicing!"

She was unremarkable. An outlier. Eighteen. Resigned and beaten down as she walked. Most of them were.

Mesmer despised them all.

* * *

"This sucks, even by our standards," Zephyranth muttered, sitting by his side. Her eyes stared down angrily at the floor.

"I'll find a way, I always do. There just are more rules to follow this time." Mesmer felt a childish urge to shout and stamp his foot, as if someone could be cozened into making another boy take his place.

"You'd better, Angel," she said sternly, wrapping her arms around his bony frame.

"They'll never know what hit them," he reassured her with a thin smile.

"Get in the Careers. You won't have to worry about stupid things like water then."

Mesmer thought about it. "I will, unless they're too suspicious. They're the ones with the only real chance to kill me. I won't fool around with plants, I promise."

"Come back to me, Mesmer. I've got few things to look forward to as it is." Zephyranth drew a shaky breath. "If by any chance you do die, anything you want me to do?"

"Be smart. Marry a peacekeeper and get out of here. Name one of your kids after me."

"Deal, deal, and of course, Mess," she said with a sweet smile.

He ran his fingers through her smooth hair, hating the world with a renewed passion. "I love you, Zephyranth. I'll come back."

"I love you too, it's you I want to marry, Mesmer." she said softly, planting a kiss in the crook of his neck.

* * *

**Apple Coppicing, 18, District 11**

The town streets were filthy. She couldn't understand how people could live in the filth. At least Fenthion kept his orchards, and his workers, clean.

The reaping was just another chore she had to attend. A nice one. She had a dress that made her look like a woman and would feast with the others before sunset. Her last feast.

She looked for her siblings. Two were still of reaping age. But with all the people and everyone so different with pretty hair and nice clothes on, she didn't recognize them among the crowd.

She walked with her head down, almost sad a seeing mud seep into her shoes. Such pretty shoes. She patted her short dark hair nervously, feeling awkward amongst all those strangers, not knowing what to say the other girls.

She held her hands tightly folded before her. She was on tesserae, just one, because it was that much less food Fenthion had to give them, but she'd had more before, back when she'd been the expendable kid in the family.

But she always paid attention to the escort and the reaped tributes, always. She knew what it was to be always ignored, for people to forget you were a person. She didn't care if it were district people or Capitol. People were people. Funnily enough it was Fenthion who'd taught her that, when he'd lectured her about respecting other workers in his orchards. No matter what the man did, she remembered the words.

She listened carefully to the reading of the Treaty of Treason by Mayor Chives, then waited politely for the escort to begin speaking, unlike the great majority of her peers. She could almost touch the platform the woman stood on.

The Capitol woman didn't look happy at all. "Settle down Eleven, you are human beings, not cattle."

Apple found herself raising her eyebrows. That was rich, coming from her, especially on reaping day.

Legacy Harvester was reaped, a barefoot boy from the fifteens' section. He was painfully thin but achingly beautiful. Apple's brown eyes were full of sadness as he walked towards her, and the platform.

She ground her teeth as she heard laughter. How petty could people be? But what happened next shocked her beyond belief. The boy threw a knife, a knife he'd gotten past the peacekeepers, straight at the girl's face. It just scratched her. Apple couldn't believe her eyes.

Her sadness morphed into something else. Maybe that boy had a chance. But how did he get so good?

A peacekeeper dragged him to the platform. He didn't search Legacy for more knives. Apple frowned. Did the man know him? People had been flogged for less. Maybe the rules were different on Reaping Day.

He looked like a lost little angel, upset about the other girl's cruel laughter. She almost forgot the thrown knife, but not quite.

"The girl this year is Apple Coppicing!"

Apple winced. So much for hoping to have kids with Liam one day. She was almost disappointed not to feel afraid or angry. Proof of how lame her life already was. She dragged her feet up to the platform, keeping her eyes down.

* * *

It took her a few seconds to recognize the teenagers at the door.

"Lucas, Violet, Marjory, Daikon," she said with a small smile, "you've grown."

Her lips curled into something much less friendly. "And you've know where I worked all along. Three years. I hope you thought the trade was worth it. I really don't want to know if it wasn't. I'm glad you came but now I want you to go."

"Appy," Daikon said, his eyes pleading. The sixteen year old had been her favorite sibling before.

"I know you must have argued. Please leave, all of you, don't make me ask for a peacekeeper."

Apple's voice was calm. She didn't want deep buried feelings to surface. She had only a few minutes for goodbyes, and nothing could be mended in a few minutes. She avidly kept her eyes on them as they left, their heads down. She wanted to remember every detail.

Liam didn't come. Of course he didn't, the orchard was over a day's walk away. He had had no reason to attend. Apple sighed, feeling defeated. She noticed the peacekeeper on guard was looking at her.

"So, how did you get a job in this awesome district?" she asked in light tones.

The man stiffened and sneered at her, refusing to answer.

"Fine, just wanted to die less stupid. You know, hold on to one nugget of knowledge when I'll be agonizing on the ground, a horrible disemboweled mess."

"Shut up!" the man snapped.

Apple smiled at him, hardly believing he'd not hit her. Amazing how tributes got away with being flippant. She might even enjoy her last days. Her smile fell. Despite everything, she didn't want to die.


	13. District 12: Refinement and Innocence

**Tindal Soot, « Dash », 16, District 12**

People from other Districts called them miners, but they knew little about the mining. They all pictured grimy savages with pickaxes and helmets, hunched in narrow stone corridors, deep under the earth's surface, where the air was stale and unhealthy. Although Dash did own a pickax and a helmet, he had never been in a such a dreary place. He was very aware that made him lucky.

Strip mining meant blowing up a mountain top and getting the now close to the surface coal out of the rocks. He helped with the mining, they all did, careful not to slip or to make half the mountain collapse with one wrong pickax blow. His main job was nevertheless the blowing up. He calculated the right amounts of dynamite to unlock the riches trapped in the dull gray rocks while preserving the miners' lives. He had dozens of explosions to plan and oversee each day. That made lots of ground to cover; he was always in a hurry, his heavy backpack full of dynamite weighting him down. That had earned him the name Dash, and it was how they hollered for him on the high slopes. He rarely saw further than his outstretched arm, with all the dust and soot swirling in the air, but it hardly slowed him down: he fancied he knew his side of the Appalachians better than anyone.

It was late when the overseer tolled the shift-end bell. He had equipment to pack, so he let the other men head home without him. Alone amidst the sunset-kissed mounts, Dash felt part of a larger, more vibrant, universe. Like every night, he walked by a factory which liquefied the coal that was to be made into special kinds of fuel. Most of the working girls were employed there, even if a fair few picked coal side by side with them in the mines. They left the factory at around the same time he passed in the evenings, all flushed from the day's work.

"Hello, lovely ladies," he greeted, winking at a young girl that had to be new to the job.

The brunette blushed. The others, those more acquainted with his banter, greeted him with smiles.

"All okay, Dash?"

"Of course. I always ascertain myself none of your fathers and brothers encounter any peril."

They giggled. He knew many thought he was a bit ridiculous with his high-brow phrasings and well-read airs, but all agreed he was special for that. He enjoyed being special and sounding more high born than he was. Nothing dictated he had to be coarse.

"Is there a vacant place on any of the teams you've seen," the muscled Claire asked, "I'm getting fed up with this work."

"For you, there will be," Dash assured her with a dazzling smile. They were two men short since the Mason brothers had left for the pits. Claire's lips twitched. Claire seemed fit enough to handle the work.

"Thank you."

He was whistling as he covered the last mile separating him from home, and the rest of town.

"You stop right there, _Dash_."

Dash froze, from the way his name was snarled, it bode nothing well. He slowly turned around.

Four gangly boys with sneers plastered on their faces stepped up to him, arms crossed and jaws squared. He knew Locke and Gravel well, unfortunately. Locke was a Mercanter, but he fancied himself living a tough life. Dash had showed him up in class when they'd been eight, something the blonde still hadn't gotten over. Gravel was from the Seam and Locke's pet hamster. He seemed to lack a mind of his own. It was a third boy, an older Seam kid, who had spoken, hate blazing in his eyes. For the life of him, Dash couldn't place his face, let alone his name.

"What were you doing, chatting up Claire like that," the boy said.

_Was he serious? _Dash's lips twitched.

"You should ask yourself what Claire is going to do to you, when she finds out you consider her a pretty object with no mind of her own."

Gravel stepped forward to shake him by the shoulders. "Watch your mouth, you motherfucker!"

Dash closed his eyes at the onslaught of spittle. He had no patience for this. "Aren't you a little old for this nonsense? And aren't _you_," he added, his eyes on the two boys he didn't know, "a little too self-respecting to allow those two goons to use you to get to me, never mind it might get you into huge trouble with your girl?"

"Told you he was a slick prick," Locke said, now red from anger. Gravel punched Dash, throwing him to the ground.

Dash clutched his jaw. "See, " he said, scrambling away to avoid being kicked, "It's never been about Claire. You've just been played the fool by two little kids."

He was ready and dodged when Gravel and Locke tried to jump him. Dash wasn't a violent or even an aggressive person. He hated fights, but he'd learned to finish them. The two older boys had turned away and left. Dash weighted his options. He prided himself in his sense of honor, but he'd also long ago given up the hope of changing Locke. Locke grappled him, Dash brought his fisted hand down on the blonde's stomach, causing him to grunt but not to let go. Gravel, the moron, aimed for his head, the only thing Dash could dodge with. The bully's fist collided with Locke's shoulder.

"Hit him, you retard," Locke said, even more scornful when he talked to his _friend_ than when he snapped at Dash.

Dash let himself crash to the floor, making Locke lose his balance and topple over. He felt a sharp pain to his back before he could rise again. His shout of pain was almost drowned by Locke's. He heard other sounds of weapons striking flesh.

"Break it up, you hooligans. We'd better not catch you at it again!"

Peacekeepers. Claire's wannabe boyfriend had alerted peacekeepers. Dash felt blazing anger sear through his painful limbs. Had they no shred of decency? Dash failed to rise, his back was killing him.

"Get up when others are talking to you!"

He forced himself up, a grunt escaping his lips.

The taller man struck his shoulder with his metal rod, hard. "Show some respect!"

Ill-tempered peacekeepers, marvelous.

* * *

He was limping with as much grace as he could muster when he arrived at Spade's house. The skinny old man gasped when he saw the state he was in.

"Just bruises, Spade, just me being too idiotic not to be glib with peacekeepers. Locke is such a fawning toady when witnesses appear. It's infuriating."

"You're no man before you get battle scars," Spade grinned, ruffling Dash's dark brown hair. He flexed his wrinkled arms with a wink, making the snake tattoo on the left one undulate.

The balding man led him inside and helped him wash. The small little house was a mess, with papers lying everywhere. Spade liked to write and he never threw out anything. He had an unending supply stories to tell. He had consigned hundreds on paper and had more actual books than any other man Dash knew. The teenager considered the old man his best friend. They were both oddities people were fond of, spending more time making stories up than worrying about real life. There was a grandeur in stories that gave Dash hope. Spade had taught him most of everything.

"Nothing here will scar, it's depressing," Dash said with a straight face, gently running a hand over the purple bruising.

"You've got three strong brothers and a spit-fire sister, Dash, why do you keep quiet about this?"

Dash scowled at the mere thought of begging for help. "They baby me enough as it is."

"They'll always baby you, let them also show you why having four older siblings isn't just an annoyance, Tindal."

Dash looked down. Spade was always very serious when he called him by name.

"Because you're proud," Spade answered for him, "too proud."

"I'll speak to them, they'll probably be thrilled to help..." Dash grudgingly said, knowing it was true. He still felt like a weak coward.

"Hey, no one said you couldn't exaggerate the assault a little," Spade said with a wink.

Ten minutes later, Dash was almost convinced he'd been ambushed by a fierce dragon and had rushed back to the mining shed over four miles of rough terrain, dodging fireballs at every step, before blowing the creature up with dynamite in desperation. The two men were clutching their sides from laughter. Dash never tired of listening to Spade.

* * *

**Bryony Succor, 13, District 12**

"Here it is," Bryony said, pushing her mid-length sweaty hair off her face.

Wild nettles. Not only were they good stuff to eat but they could be woven into solid ropes. Tessa clucked her tongue appreciatively.

"We're going to have to make it look like we went out for something else though, or we'll have to turn them in," Bryony said, her eyes on Tessa's sling.

Unlike her best friend the black-haired Tessa was poor at recognizing plants, but she was a much better hunter than the smaller girl.

"If we spot Mockingbird nests I can kill them and you can climb up the trees and steal the eggs. It's delicacies in the Capitol, apparently."

Bryony's face twisted in disgust. "They eat _what_? No, it can't be, someone must've pulled your leg."

"Cleave told me, the butcher's son. Trust me, he knows."

Trust Tessa to speak to merchant kids. Bryony didn't want to have anything to do with them. They always thought they were so much better than everyone else.

"But what if the peacekeepers don't, and they'll laugh in our faces?" Bryony said, still unconvinced.

"Mosaic is from the Capitol, remember?"

Bryony nodded. Whispers were Mosaic had done something bad, so they'd made him come work in Twelve as a peacekeeper. He didn't care much for rules and was nice, sort of. That's why they always looked for Mosaic when they traded meat at the Hob.

A fair few people went in the forest, mostly on rainy days and when the light was poor, because there were fewer controls then. Better risk it then let themselves and their families starve. Dozens of people vanished every year after going in the wild woodlands, but over a dozen dozens died from getting too weak to fight the winter when the biting cold came.

Bryony wondered why nobody cut the forest down. The Capitol wanted tons and tons of coal so surely so much wood would be useful too. There were no whispers to answer that question and she dared not ask. She whistled. Mockingjays whistled back. Tessa's idea was smart: nobody hunted the singing birds so they didn't flee like the squirrels when they heard steps. They were too slow to flee when Tessa started flinging sharp stones at them.

Bryony walked back to the Seam with her eyes downcast, feeling so sad about her jumper full of mocking jay eggs. It wasn't the birds' fault if they were hungry.

* * *

Selling things at the Hob had taken ages. She was very late and her parents would be frantic. Night had already fallen in the village, most seam kids were asleep. An intent, childish voice made her slow.

"But it's so hard to pull!"

Bryony turned to see a strong-looking silhouette showing a little girl how to shoot with a bow in the shadows. Bryony smiled, it was so cute. A pity none of her parents knew how to use a bow.

"You need to keep your hand in the middle of the string, Pet, like this," the man patiently said.

"Get back inside, they'll be plenty of time for that later," a woman called in a low voice.

"But I want to learn," the girl stubbornly said, earning herself chuckles from her father.

"You're five, Katniss, you've still got time to become the best hunter in the world."

The light coming from the inside of the house revealed the woman's blonde hair. Bryony's smile deepened. Everyone knew the Everdeens in their part of the Seam, at least by name. Few miners ever managed to snare pretty merchant women. She went on her way.

She had her hands above her head in sign of surrender as soon as she opened the door.

Her mother huffed. "You'll make we lose the few brown hair I have if you keep this up."

"Sorry, people had much more to sell than usual, it happens."

"Chill, Ma, if she dies at the Hob, they'll tell us," Avis said, with a grin.

Rosalyn shot her eldest daughter a stern look which spoke volumes of what she thought of the teenager's black humor.

"Food tonight?" Bryony asked hopefully.

"Tomorrow," Her mother said with a small smile.

Bryony nodded. They'd eaten two meals the day before. She wasn't that hungry.

"You missed your beau," the gray-haired Flint said, his lips twitching beneath his beard.

Bryony's face fell. "Briar was here?" She said, awfully disappointed. "Did he leave a message?"

Briar was her age, and the most wonderful boy ever. They'd been dating for two months already and Bryony was positive she'd marry him if he wanted to.

Avis snickered. "He left flowers."

Bryony's face bloomed into a radiant smile. "You're just jealous," she said playfully at her sister, rushing for her room.

"Totally," The older girl admitted, stretching her bony frame.

Honey suckles. Bryony was grinning so much her cheek threatened to cramp. She had to go see him tomorrow first thing.

* * *

**Tindal Soot, « Dash », 16, District 12**

He found his young cousin Violet was hiding under his bed as he reached for his socks. Morning light was already pouring in.

"Get under the covers. You must be quite uncomfortable," Dash said.

"Mama got reaped at eighteen. She died," Violet said, her almond-shaped eyes dull as she climbed on top of him and slipped in the bed.

Charity had been Dash's favorite aunt. She had never seemed inclined to say who had gotten her pregnant, only that she'd been willing on the moment. No boy had ever shown up to claim Violet as his own. The child had not been convenient, but she'd grown to be everyone's little sister, living some months with them, some with his other aunts and uncles.

The beautiful young woman had died in the final three of the fifty-second Games, after having killed two other tributes. They'd gotten enough for a two day family feast in her honor and Violet had three free tesserae to her name, because of the good performance. It had left a bitter taste in all their mouths.

"The odds are beyond all our control. We can't let them rule our lives. We can't live in fear, Vi."

"But I don't want to pretend I'm okay with mum's death," the girl whispered heatedly.

Dash sighed, his words failing him. He just hugged the nine-year old close, hoping their family would be spared.

Locke shot him murderous glances as soon as he reached the sixteen's pen, but he did nothing. Dash didn't know what Valeria had done, but his brothers had eyed her with newfound respect and fear for weeks after she had dealt with the blonde boy. Neither him nor Gravel had given him any trouble after that. Dash felt pathetic at the thought. His sister, no matter how incredible Valeria was, had just snapped her fingers to accomplish something he'd never managed himself: getting Locke to lay off.

Their escort, Selina Wattle, was a flower, literally. She had leaves in her dubiously-natural green hair, a cloak of real-looking wild flowers, and a heavy, entrancing perfume that he could smell twenty yards away. Only her pinched expression kept her from looking beautiful. That and the fact Haymich Abernathy ruined the tableau by drinking liquor, sprawled on a stool he'd brought, right behind the escort. Dash marveled at how the victor got away with his blatant disregard for the Capitol.

"Right-oh, Twelve, this might just be the year for you! The sixty-third Hunger Games will be so very special and exciting! May the odds ever be in your favor," Selina said in bright tones, as if it was all a big party.

"The male tribute for district twelve this year will be Tindal Soot!"

"Does it have to be?" Dash muttered, his expression pained. He almost laughed at his lack of luck. It was so implausible he couldn't even find it in him to get angry.

He walked up the platform, trying not to drag his feet or slouch too much. He saw Valeria was restraining Violet in the relatives section, a hand over the little girl's mouth. He met his sister's horrified eyes and nodded slightly, not hearing a word of what the escort was saying.

A pretty thirteen year old from the seam was reaped. The peacekeeper whose hand she'd locked on while walking up to them wore a comical expression on his face. Dash could almost hear his thoughts 'Damn, this kid is actually cute, and will probably die horribly soon.'

People cheered hollowly. Locke a little louder than others, but the boy's heart didn't seem to be in it. Dash met his eyes and shrugged lightly. There was nothing they could do about the odds.

* * *

"Well everyone in the family is safe now, I'm the oldest cousin and yeeeeears away from my first slip," Violet said, her trembling voice oozing with sarcasm. "Do try to die late in the Games, then maybe Val and the others will each get free tesserae. Four tesserae in exchange for just one person, awesome deal, isn't it?"

"No, it sucks," Dash's youngest older brother Elton said, in dead serious tones.

Dash wanted them all to get out. The room was cramped, it was oppressive, and he felt like _he_ had to comfort _them_ despite the fact he was the one sent to an early grave. He forced himself to put his heart into it, when he hugged them, when he said reassuring words and even when he nodded despite himself, making promises he couldn't keep about his return.

"People, can you not wait until after he's gone to turn into selfish piles of goo? Why is Tindal, _the tribute_, the only one who's struggling not to cry?"

Dash smiled weakly at Spade. The old man's eyes were blazing with fury.

"Don't you..." one of his brothers began heatedly.

"Out!" Valeria said, before the situation could devolve into a fight. "A minute won't make it any easier for us, but it might make a difference for Dash, so everyone out!"

"You're the best sister I could've dreamed of, Val. I love you all," Dash said weakly, uncomfortable with the open display but figuring he'd regret not having said it later otherwise.

"They're out, and I'm not giving you a token. They're distracting mushy things that get you killed more often than not. Don't lose yourself in there, Dash." Spade said, grabbing his shoulders with surprising strength.

"That is a promise I might just keep," the boy said with a small smile before hugging his long-time friend.

* * *

**Bryony Succor, 13, District 12**

Bryony woke up as she felt something slip next to her in her straw-stuffed mattress.

"Avis?" she mumbled.

"Well, since you're scared about the reapings I thought I'd keep you company," the older girl whispered.

Bryony giggled. She knew Avis was much more scared than she was, because her sister had a much greater imagination than she did and therefore pictured the worst possible outcomes.

"Yeah, I didn't want to bother you," she said in a little voice, playing along.

She shuffled over to leave Avis enough space to lie down, happy to have her close.

"I guess no-one can help worrying," Avis muttered, snuggling closer to the smaller girl.

"No. But no everyone gets to have a huge teddy-bear sister on reaping morning," Bryony said, flashing her a smile in the gloom.

Avis kissed her cheek, sighing softly, her dark eyes far away.

Briar was there at nine sharp, just like he'd said he'd be. Bryony stood with her hair brushed, two thin side-braids tied up at the back of her head and in a knee-length peach colored dress. She skipped up to him and jumped into his arms, planting a kiss on his cheek.

"Hey! It's so nice you could come," she knew Avis would have hated her forever if she'd gone over to Briar's on reaping day.

"My family knows you're special," Briar said with his cute small smile. He hugged her tight. "you look even more beautiful than usual."

Avis laughed, causing the couple to turn. Bryony was still beaming from the boy's previous words.

"Oh, don't mind me," she said, before giving Briar thumbs up and mouthing _neat job._

"I like your sister, she always makes me feel like I'm doing everything right," Briar whispered, watching the fifteen year old walk out of the room.

"That's cause you are. I'd thought she'd make trouble when I brought a boy home, but instead she's always defending you the few times I complain," Bryony said with a wry smile.

Briar bent down to kiss her cheek, his brown eyes dancing as he looked at her. "Let's take a walk, everything is so quiet and the day is beautiful."

"No one's going to be out now. Sure." Bryony said. "But not too long, I don't want Avis to start brooding, then we can play a game of cards or something."

"Sure."

* * *

Bryony shivered as the escort came on stage, the woman always stared at her in a somewhat disgusted and annoyed fashion. She'd been there for only a few years, but rumor was she'd soon leave, that she hated the job.

Their only victor, drunk Haymich Abernathy was there on time, for once, but he was seated on a makeshift stool with a bottle of liquor and drinking in front of everyone. The disgusted and angry glares the escort was throwing him were worse than anything the teens received.

"Right-o, Twelve, this might just be the year for you! The sixty-third Hunger Games will be so very special and exciting! May the odds ever be in your favor!" Selina said in bright tones, as if she really hoped they would win.

One would still die, even if they won, there was nothing to be all cheery about.

"The male tribute for district Twelve this year will be Tindal Soot!" she said with a flourish.

Bryony gulped, even if she didn't know the boy. He was a pleasant looking, decently muscled sixteen year old, from the Seam of course. He walked to the platform reluctantly, while Selina shamelessly sized him up while calling for volunteers.

"Lovely! Now our female tribute this year is to be… Bryony Succor!"

Bryony faltered. _She didn't want to! She didn't want to go!_ As people moved away from her. She saw a peacekeeper close in. She stuck her hand out to him, knowing she'd fall otherwise and not wanting to be dragged. He took it, probably out of reflex. She let him lead her like that to the platform; squeezing the hand mightily, not even having glanced at the man's face. She almost gagged when the escort's overpowering perfume hit her. Selina seemed much more unhappy when she sized her up than when she'd done the boy. Bryony would've pulled her tongue out at her if she hadn't been so shocked.

"Well well, give a big cheer for your dear tributes!"

_Your. _There had always been at least the pretense of _our_ before. Even their escort was abandoning them. Bryony wasn't the only one who noticed.

"Darling, they're your tributes too, until you go back to your cozy Capitol home," Haymich said, stumbling upright.

The cheer was subdued, it always was, people were looking at them both sad and relieved. Everyone knew they'd never come back.

* * *

"Mummy," Bryony said, jumping into the woman's arms as her family were let in by a huge peacekeeper woman inside the justice building.

She found herself sobbing uncontrollably in her arms. She tried hard to calm down, knowing they had little time. Her vision was swimming with tears as she met Avis' eyes.

"Do you hate me? For not volunteering," the older girl whispered.

"I wouldn't have thought to volunteer for you. It doesn't matter that you're fifteen. You'd still be just as dead." Bryony said, struggling to get the words out through her sobs. "No one ever volunteers here. I'd never hate you, Avis."

"I'm so very sorry, but it's just two more minutes."

Bryony turned her head, to see Briar slipping through the door. She smiled weakly, not wanting him to think she wasn't brave.

"I love you," Briar said, kissing her lips softly. It tasted salty, he'd cried before coming in. That realization almost broke Bryony. She couldn't let them go. Her father was soon hugging a wailing Tessa as Bryony's friend was allowed through the door.

"That's a mouse," Rosalyn said, handing her daughter the old pet rock Bryony had kept as a kid with shaky hands. The dark round ears Bryony had drawn on the oddly shaped rock, stubbornly insisting it was a mouse like only a willful four year old could, had almost faded.

"Five minutes are up," the peacekeeper said in firm tones.

"You're heartless, I hope your kids die in front of you," Avis spat, earning herself a light cuff from her father.

"No kid should die, ever," the man said sternly, caressing Bryony's face for the last time.

* * *

**Notes: I purposefully made the goodbye times shorter as we reached the poorer districts, it's one of the little marks of Capitol favor/disfavor.**

**The Katniss cameo appearance was purely me having fun.**

* * *

**So this concludes the reapings!  
**

**Who are you rooting for at this point? Why? Please share your thoughts.  
**


	14. Train Rides, part 1

**For those who like looking into things rather than taking my comments about district sizes etc. at face value, I'm using the map created by aimmyarrowshigh for this fic. You can google it easily if you want. =D**

**This chapter follows six tributes of the first six districts in chronological order (and not district number order)**

* * *

**Armagnac Dessonges, 17, D1 **

"So, why didn't you clout the other girl in front of everyone?" he finally said, when it was obvious neither Romulus nor Carnelia would start talking.

"Other girl?" Carnelia said, a thin content, smile on her lips.

"The one that was on her knees in the eighteens."

Carnelia's face flushed with pleasure. She seemed to struggled not to grin despite her dismissive tone. "Oh her. Well I figured it would be even more humiliating."

Armagnac frowned, remembering a previous conversation. "Wait, that was Rosacea right? The one supposed volunteer?"

Carnelia licked her lips, making Armagnac push his chair away instinctively. He wasn't unacquainted with blood-thirst and arrogance, but he'd rarely seen it directed at him.

"So you're the selected volunteer, otherwise you'd not be sure of that. Cool to know."

Armagnac bristled, feeling he was being sized up and not liking it one bit. "Why'd you do it? Volunteer."

"Because I take vengeance much too seriously and life not seriously enough," the girl said, a humorless smile making its way on her oval face.

Armagnac had no way of knowing if she was being truthful. He frowned again, ill at ease. He'd not counted on a district partner who would toy with him from the start.

"That and killing people," she added, "It's sort of a must after years of having to hold back against the idiots at the center."

Armagnac snorted at her light tone. That was more like some of the Careers he knew.

"Why aren't we heading for the Capitol, Romulus," Carnelia asked the escort.

"The wagon will join with those from the other eleven districts so that you all arrive in the same train."

She sighed."Oh joy."

Armagnac stared out of the window. He could see they were still in One.

"How did you know?"

"Because I live closer to the border than you, apparently."

Romulus chuckled softly, his eyes overflowing with condescension. "You'll have to think quickly in the arena, people won't simply hand you the answers, Dessonges."

Armagnac bristled. What was wrong with the man? Why was he treating him as if he was four? Did the escort think he was stupid? Obviously. Armagnac decided to ignore them and start eating his meal. Too bad for conversation, there was no point in getting too friendly anyway. He couldn't deny he was disappointed.

"Are you wearing women's perfume," the auburn haired girl asked after a pause. She was eying him strangely.

"My girlfriend's parting gift," Armagnac said proudly. Diadem could never embarrass him.

"How sweet."

Her and Romulus were wearing twin small smiles.

"Haven't you two ever been in love?" The boy asked, exaggerating concern.

They weren't the only ones who could be patronizing.

"I am happily married, Armagnac. I find young love quite endearing," Romulus replied, his mocking smile growing larger.

Carnelia on the other hand was glaring at him like he would make a good meal. Armagnac wondered if annoying her was such a good idea after all.

"There are a lot of interesting things you can do with the right weapons," she finally said, her voice dripping with suggestiveness.

The teen winced at the awful mental picture those words created before realizing he'd been effectively threatened.

"What did I ever do to you," he snapped. There was no reason to be petty.

Romulus laughed. Armagnac repressed the urge to empty his glass on the escort's face.

Carnelia stretched, making a good impression of a lion. "Nothing. You're just so easy to toy with," she said, wearing a feral smile.

Maybe he should stop expecting people to be friendly. Dys would probably have called him a soft fool by now.

"Great," he groaned, "happy Hunger Games."

He was certain Carnelia was stifling a smile as she lowered her eyes back to the food. He really had to convince her he wasn't foodstuff before she got bored in the arena.

* * *

**Algor Feyn, 15, D3**

How could she just banter with that insult to the human race? Their escort had the empathy of a pigeon and twisted priorities in life.

_He'd never see Lemma or his family again._

Algor's hands hadn't stopped trembling since he'd been reaped. It was as if a rug had been pulled from under his feet and he was still falling. Everything had been so ordered, so well planned.

_The random variable._

Five thousand teens, the eighteens much more likely to be reaped. No tesserae for him... He'd had less chance of being reaped than of breaking his head after falling from a tree to practice for the Murder Games.

"What is in this? It's amazing."

Algor didn't lift his eyes to see what dessert his district partner was pointing at. He didn't even want to speak to his mentors. Since Wiress was obviously unstable, both her and Beetee would mentor him in the afternoon. He was glad not to have to deal with the ill-tempered Aster. At least Beetee smiled.

A hand pulled him upright. He hadn't realized the girl, Mercury, had risen.

"Come on, Algor, let's finish this plate in your compartment, I want to talk to you far from these distracting food scents or I'll stuff myself sick. I'll be looking forward to hearing some more about those gardens, Dante"

Whatever, he thought, letting her lead him away. At least the escort had stopped talking.

"Stop that," he heard Mercury say as he let himself fall on a couch. He turned, if only because the seriousness in her voice was so at odds with her previous attitude. Bitterness welled up inside him.

"Or what? They'll kill my family for not going down laughing?"

He cringed as he saw anger flare in her eyes and even more as she replied in pitiless tones.

"Your family will die inside from seeing their beloved son and brother empty and broken before he even sets foot in the arena. They'll remember that look on your face until their dying day, taking over all the beautiful memories they have of you."

Algor felt as if she'd dunked him in ice. He found himself standing in front of her with balled fists.

"So now it's my fault?" He shouted.

"No, but it's your choice. You have at least another five days to live, five memorable days for everyone."

Her now level voice made him pause. Her face only showed mild concern but he was used to strangers masking their emotions. What was going on in her head? Did she know what she was asking? Algor's face fell. That his family would remember him with pride was one of the last things he'd held on to. But it seemed he wouldn't even have that without a fight.

"The odds of you winning are greater than those of you been reaped had been." Mercury said softly, putting a hand on his arm.

His eyes met hers. They were the blue of small streams but most of all they had the glint of someone tackling a complex problem. He realized then that Mercury probably thought more like him than anyone he would meet in the Capitol.

"I just wish those odds were greater," he said, feeling helpless.

"So do I."

He smiled tentatively at her.

"Then I'd really have a chance," she added with a smirk.

Algor's jaw dropped. He felt inexplicably betrayed. "What," he exclaimed.

She grinned at him. Algor began to wonder if she was entirely sane or just had a weird way of teasing people.

"Try not to space out again, you've got options," she said more seriously.

Algor slouched. _What options?_ They all involved death. He realized his hands were stable again. Mercury sat next to him, her expression now wistful.

"Why don't you tell me about your family, your little sister must love you very much."

Algor winced, why was she making him think of home? He squeezed Ducky in his pocket.

"Why? Want to care when I die," he said, "sorry," he immediately added. What a horrible thing to say.

"Die? Who's going to die? This beautiful train is taking us to the sea."

_What?_

He then sighed, repressing a sudden urge to weep. Mercury was pretty enough he'd wish to take her to the beach. It was almost too easy to pretend.

"Whatever... Timmy's ten and she's going to marry a handsome and strong car assembler and be his beautiful housewife someday, or so she dreams," Algor began, his mind a hundred miles away. He was surprised to see how very intently Mercury was listening to his domestic rambles, even an hour later.

* * *

**Paloma Farsee, 18, D4**

Her district partner and her were engaged in a stare fight. Orvis finally burst out laughing.

"Surely you can do better that, survival wise." The young woman said as the boy began to choke in earnest on his own spit. Orvis had tears streaming down his cheeks when he was calm again.

"It's just... I don't think I've realized this is happening. Me here. I'm no Career but I bet that if I don't make the Careers, I'll be a choice morsel."

"Why? It's not like you're a lousy volunteer who'll drag their..._our_ reputation to dust."

A Career, she was a Career now. Lessons she had been taught years ago were resurfacing in her mind.

"Thanks, but you're being too logical. I'm an oddity from Four, aka will be noticed. I'll score decently in training for sure. Why bother hunting someone else?"

She cocked her head in bemusement. "Are you trying to convince me to kill you?"

Orvis chuckled dryly. "Oh no! I hope not! It's just I can't count on my chances of seducing One or Two."

"Aren't I a Career too?" Paloma said, a smile blooming on her lips as he blushed. He was so sweet despite himself.

"You... You're an adult Paloma, you look twenty-three. You don't belong among us kids. You're not stupid enough to fall for it." He sighed. "I'm not so hot about being the weakest link to the Careers anyway. I guess I just feel like talking."

Paloma's face grew soft. She'd thought she'd left the Games behind too. She could see the painful acceptance in Orvis' eyes and shuffled closer to him. She let him snuggle against her.

"I liked what you did for your friend. I think sponsors will like it too, even if illness isn't something that must run wild in Capitol streets," the boy said in soft tones.

Paloma's resolve returned fully as she thought of Lynn. Orvis was likable, many of them had to be. It was no matter, the rules had been set long ago. They'd fall, one by one. She just had to make sure she did the right amount of felling and no falling at all.

"I just don't understand why no-one volunteered," Orvis added, his voice much smaller.

"No idea," she lied, "let's look at the other tributes," she said, taking a paper out.

_It's the Head Gamemaker's last games. Extra special. Unpredictable. I heard word got out at the training centers. No one dared volunteer. Don't speak of it where cameras might be._

She wrote in small letters at the top before drawing a grid with eleven lines. Orvis gulped and stared for a few seconds.

"I'm not sure I want to spoil the surprise. I like picturing a horde of underfed weakling tributes and a bunch of fierce but stupid Careers."

Paloma took his hand and squeezed it. She'd always thought herself an independent person but understood now why no one ventured alone by choice in the Games. It wasn't just pack survival. Company kept people sane under stress. Now she had to do this properly.

"We can wait then. Why don't we practice our interviews on each other?"

"You already got an angle?"

"No, but we might as well see what comes out as convincing."

"Smart," Orvis approved.

His face broke into a thin roguish smile as he threw his hair back and straightened an invisible coat.

"Ah, Paloma, how does the Capitol compare to the beautiful beaches that supply our magnificent pearls?"

Paloma broke into peals of laughter. She hoped no-one in the Capitol would find their game offensive. She was glad Orvis didn't push the caricature too far. She put on her work expression and attempted to look content.

"Well, I am glad our riches go to the Capitol, my head is spinning from the inventiveness displayed in the audience's clothes and make-up, you'd think we weren't the only ones with stylists tonight."

Orvis cheered, this time in the place of an imaginary crowd. He then sucked his cheeks in.

"Too much?" Paloma said.

"Keep that attitude. I'd hire you to run my pearl-farm, you look awfully competent. Just the first sentence, 'our riches', makes it sound like we've got nothing left for us in Four, like you're not as happy with it as you're showing."

Paloma's eyes widened, she hadn't thought of that at all.

"I am glad to provide the Capitol with the sea's treasures?"

"Much better," he said clapping. His expression devolved into a pout. "Now I'll have to top it."

Paloma squeezed his hand again.

* * *

**Victor Gleeb, 17, D5**

Why hadn't he thought of that? He trembled in rage as he watched district Eight's reaping, in detail this time. Why hadn't he done the same thing as Aureus Florin? Surely there would have been people desperate enough in Five to take his place.

"Do you mind? It's hard to see if your hands are shaking."

Victor started. They'd shared an entire meal and had already been seating together for a few hours. Never had he heard the girl utter a word except in shy greeting.

"Hold it still," the girl hissed. It wasn't that intimidating considering she stood under five feet tall.

"Sorry, Skye, didn't know you could talk."

"Mouse," she replied softly, letting him see her face clearly for the first time. "Just call me Mouse."

Under her jaggedly cut dull brown hair, Victor realized she had a pretty freckled face. A vision of her on the ground, blood coming out that pursed mouth flashed before his eyes.

"I'd rather pretend no one gave enough a damn about you to bother with a cute nickname, considering the mess we are in," he said, his voice suddenly harsh.

A hand collided with his cheek. "I'd better get used to hitting people, then," a now standing Skye said, her eyes brimming with tears.

"Start by using your fists, slaps do nothing," Victor said, shooting her a dark look.

The girl fled the room.

Victor closed his eyes and breathed in deeply. He couldn't afford this kind of attitude. Skye looked sweet ad nonthreatening, but he had no idea if she'd be any good at training. If she was, people would line up to ally with her. He didn't want to have to find himself part of a group of leftovers once the Games begun. He didn't want to feel sorry when she died. He had to be cold or he'd never make it back.

"What have you done?" Quark said, his expression disapproving. Victor crossed his arms and put his legs on the space Skye had vacated.

"Locked all my morals and empathy in a small box. I just hope I'll find the key when this is over. It's nothing personal."

The thirty year old victor flinched, disgust and pity obvious on his face.

"Wow, how many years as a mentor and still caring? You did something right along the way. Or maybe you're just a masochist," Victor said.

Quark just sighed, as if to calm himself. "Don't do that to yourself."

_Spare me the pity,_ Victor thought bitterly. He waved the portable screen at the mentor. "They're ugly."

Quark frowned. "Who?"

"District One. Girl looks like a boy with a lion's head, down to the expression and mane. The boy is your common pretty farmer boy, except with better clothes and a neat swagger. Does that mean they're especially good? I thought Careers had a strict pedigree."

Quark eyed the screen with a thoughtful expression on his face. "Looks are considered like any other skill, they're good for sponsors," he said, "you're right to be extra-careful. Seen anything else?"

"Well for girls ... District Two is insane. She was thrilled, not 'I can't wait to kill' thrilled but 'my crush said he loves me' kind of thrilled. She's also unbelievably hot. Three might just be an outstanding actor. Nine is probably something special but I doubt the gamemakers will let her win anyway, not the way her reaping went. I wouldn't mind dating Seven, and she has muscles I envy. Six looks like a brute."

He belatedly realized that made a lot of people to keep track of.

"Guys...Well District Four is a stroke of luck. He's no Career, but he might make a good ally. Nine is a freaking mountain, as if Two wasn't scary enough. Six and Seven are either very good or tragically confident, they're pretty young. Eleven will have to be watched closely."

Victor had decided he wanted Eleven on his side. The short boy hadn't shown either fear nor anger after he'd thrown the knife. Perfect aim thirty yards away. He was a survivor, and as stunning as the girl from Two in his disquieting way. That would be good for sponsors, Victor could definitely use him.

* * *

**Drake Stanhope, 15, D6**

Drake couldn't keep still.

"When does she stop talking?" he whispered to the scary girl next to him.

Their escort kept asking them nosy questions and then comparing their partial answers out loud to what she'd 'observed from a systematic study of previous tributes from Six'. It was like talking to an insane doctor. Drake had to get out.

"Be cute and pretend to faint," the girl, Hawk, suggested.

Drake found he was quite okay with that plan.

"I...I'm in the Hunger Games," he shouted at the top of his lungs, causing the woman to interrupt her monologue in shock. "I... I... I need space," he gasped, running out.

"I'll make sure he's fine," he heard Hawk say in that rough voice of hers.

They both breathed in relief when they realized she wouldn't follow them. The pierced girl didn't look so mean when she smiled.

"Fucking sweet, kiddo."

"Hey, let's explore the train," he said, eyes alight with excitement. He'd never been on a working train before.

"Ugh, no thanks, I've eaten so much I can't fucking walk. I'll go talk to the mentor, they're bound to have more interesting shit to say than that shrew."

Wow, how did she ever get away with cussing so much at home?

"Okay, I won't be long."

The wagon before him was quite similar except of a different color, and it seemed the two tributes hadn't liked the fish rolls. He popped one into his mouth before testing out the chairs, just to see if they were the same. Not exactly.

"Lost?" A pretty escort with a huge blue wig and a weird crown asked gently. She was comforting a crying short-haired girl with another, more normally dressed, older woman.

"No, Ma'am, just wanted to see the whole train, walk a bit." He lowered his eyes. "Our escort is insufferable," he whispered heatedly.

"Who," the lady said. He could see her lips twitching.

"Carol. She goes on, and on and on."

The woman surprised him with a little laugh. "Yes, she does."

"You're much nicer than her," he said, sparing a compassionate glance for the brown-haired girl. He guessed lots of people had to feel like crying right then.

He received a tight smile in response and realized it hadn't been the right thing to say. He waved and hastily changed wagon before things could get too awkward.

He sneaked into one of the side rooms. These were larger. He guessed he was moving up district numbers. Careers already had neater stuff it seemed. So unfair. As he went back in the dining room servants were cleaning up, he heard voices in another room. Wow, Careers started with their mentors fast. Or maybe like Hawk they'd just felt like it. One of the voices sounded mighty old; yet Drake was sure Four had loads of young victors. They had to win often.

As he slid the door leading to the next room, he twisted out of the way to avoid getting grabbed by the arm.

"What are you doing here, young man," a man in orange and blue frilly clothes said sternly.

Drake dashed into the next compartment, hoping the other wouldn't follow him.

By turning into the first side room, he nearly collided into a man in a dark gray suit. He winced as cold black eyes pierced into his, fearing he might have made a very bad decision.

"The Capitol makes such stunning trains. You couldn't help but see the whole marvel for yourself," The pretty girl next to the man said, her lips twitching.

She looked so kind next to her forbidding mentor, that Drake spontaneously latched on to her arm.

The man in orange from before walked in.

"You know each other," he said, pointing to Drake and the girl.

"He's adorable, who wouldn't want to, Sir?"

Drake looked up to her. Her pale blue eyes were wide and guileless. He decided he really liked her. He then remembered what she'd first told him.

"The Capitol makes such stunning trains, Sir. I couldn't help but see the whole marvel for myself. I work in transports back in Six, you see, so..." Drake's voice trailed off.

The Capitolite softened fractionally. "I can understand, but we do have rules."

"If in three minutes I'm not back in my wagon, you can make me scrub dishes tonight," Drake volunteered, hoping he looked sweet.

"I'm afraid being an Avox is irreversible," the girl's mentor said, his silky voice dripping acid. Drake cringed. He relaxed when he noticed the brunette was stifling a laugh.

"Three minutes," The escort from Four granted, eying the other man in distaste before exiting.

"Thanks a bunch, I'm Drake."

"I'm Fid..." The man tapped the girl's shoulder with a long finger. She blinked. "Mercury," she finally said. "And it was no problem. Like Aster so tactfully said," she added with a fond smile,"don't get into trouble. Avox isn't what you're aiming at."

Drake blushed slightly before giving the mentor a small respectful nod. If she liked him, he couldn't be that bad. Aster just stared down at him coolly. Drake quickly left.

The white and purple-haired escort reading a newspaper in a plush chair didn't even glance up as he passed the hall at the end of which a middle-aged mentor was talking with a woman with wild frizzy hair. They smiled at him as he passed. He shyly smiled back.

Opening the door to Two's compartment he stopped and froze. A breathtaking blonde stood next dangerous-looking woman he recognized as the infamous Enobaria from the last games. He just stared harder when she bared her golden pointed teeth.

"How can you kiss someone without hurting them with those?"

He realized he had spoken out loud when he saw the look of utter shock on the blonde's face. Enobaria's eyes were blazing with fury. His breathing hitched. He saw his life flash before his eyes. He doubled back, sprinting for the relative safety of his wagon, not even pausing for a fish roll on the way.

Hawk and their mentors, Daphne and the older Tyrian, who was luckily not a morphling, raised their eyebrows at him as he burst in.

"I'm sooo dead," he whined, taking his head into his hands.

"What's wrong?" the middle aged man said.

He repeated what he'd said to Enobaria.

"You little motherfucker!"

Hawk had to grab a pillow to keep the whole train from hearing her hysterical laughter. Daphne had a silly grin on her face while Tyrian gaped, appalled.

"That's what you thought about upon seeing her teeth? You are bonkers, kid, absolutely."

"But it's so sad, though," Drake said, depressed now at the thought of being all alone.

* * *

**Aurora Feather, 16, D2 **

"You're not getting out of the Games, not unless truly value your own life, Princess."

Enobaria's tone was not quite condescending. Aurora nodded, pushing her ego aside not to miss a single scrap of useful information.

"How can I make sure I'm solid enough in my will to survive?"

"Imagine a District where everyone hates and hurts you, a lifetime of misery," Enobaria began, her eyes glinting as she drew out the words. "Will you still murder people you have come to grudgingly respect to go live there? Will you dismiss pain and hunger long enough to track them down and rip their throats out, because you're just that thirsty and because a spectacular finish might just be your ticket to a life unbothered?"

Aurora tensed, her lips curling in disgust as she forced herself to process the words. Was she willing to endure every humiliation and commit any vile act without being certain of the outcome? In her mind the Games had been a mostly clean thing. A conception Enobaria had been happy to tear apart.

The door marking the end of their compartment slid open, revealing a fit shorter boy with large caramel curls and brown eyes overflowing with curiosity. An outlying district tribute. Aurora narrowed her eyes at the intruder who seemed now mesmerized by Enobaria's teeth. She had to give it to him, most people would have fled when faced with such a grim grin.

"How can you kiss someone without hurting them with those," the boy said in a soft voice.

Aurora found herself gaping, not believing what she'd just heard.

"Leave," she heard Enobaria hiss. The boy was long gone, she was talking to her.

Without meeting her mentor's eyes, she hurried up to the side room where Corsair was being debriefed by Brutus. No other male victors had mentored the tributes from Two since the man had discovered he deeply enjoyed insulting Careers until he deemed them prepared.

"Get out, Girl, we're busy."

"You want to deal with a hugely pissed Enobaria, you go ahead. I'd rather preserve myself for the Games. We have the reapings sequences to watch anyway." It came out more waspish than intended, but the greater the distance between Aurora and her mentor right now, the better.

"And how did Prince Charming manage to annoy the Big Bad Wolf?" Corsair said.

His mild demeanor was infuriating. He hadn't tried outright to be charming, yet he was quite pleasant, with otherwise no pretense at letting her win or any other angle rubbish. She knew he was in total control of the situation despite him not invading her space, and it bothered her to no end.

"Prince Charming, did nothing," she said with a smile, sitting down gracefully next to him. "Hansel appeared and asked her how she could kiss people before rushing off again."

Aurora's lips twitched as she saw his eyes widen and his lips part slightly, so Corsair's clamp on his emotions had limits. Good.

"And I missed that? Shoot," he huffed, plainly annoyed.

Aurora laughed at his expression.

"Do you want to see the reapings once and then comment them one by one on a second viewing?" Corsair said. His voice was much more adult than the other boy's had been, she instinctively edged away, not wanting to have her leg against his as they turned their screen on.

"We might as well comment them the first time and then watch the reapings with no interruptions the second time, to check if we missed anything."

"Fine," Corsair said.

After district Ten, Corsair placed a large hand on her thigh. She stiffened. His dark eyes were serious as he stared at her. He removed his hand.

"If I do that without your consent, you can fight back, and no one will blame you for it. Stop tensing every time I get within an inch of you. It gives too much away."

Aurora's traits tightened in anger and shame. She pulled her knees to her chin, realizing he'd played with her.

"You mean these last two dozen times when you shifted nearer to me, it was to test my reaction," she said through clenched teeth.

She'd thought his expression was already focused on her, but she'd never truly known the definition of intense before he trapped her in his gaze.

"Charming, my family saw you throw a bloodied man out of your farewells room, and you've been happy, heartbreakingly so, since you volunteered. How could I not wonder? I hope your father with be executed."

Aurora lowered her eyes, drawing a breath. His sincerity was unnerving.

"Is that why you've been behaving as if you had a stick up your ass? No eyes straying anywhere else than my face, not a single comment? Do I look that breakable," she said coolly.

Corsair let out a dry chuckle. "No, Aurora, but you would've been quick to judge me an asshole. A label I could do without."

Aurora relaxed, her tone turned wry. "Point to you, although you look nothing like Daddy Dearest. So, despite gut instinct, I would've given you the benefit of doubt."

"How magnanimous of you."

"Anything on the girl from Ten? She looks willful and is hardly emaciated. That dye cannot be cheap, not by Ten's standards." Aurora said, her eyes back on the screen.

"She's got the same nail polish my mother wears for work. It's indestructible and strengthens the nails, more expensive than some other blacks, but not luxury either. She probably has a messy but lucrative job, or her family members do."

"Something few people can do then. Doctor, maybe?"

"Maybe."

Aurora purposefully sat on Corsair's lap as District Eleven came into view. She saw surprise flash on his face. Take that, Mr. _I've figured you out_. He flashed her a smirk as she didn't bother to conceal her smug expression.


	15. Train Rides, part 2

**The second part of the train rides: Districts 7-12 in chronological order.**

* * *

**Tesu Sumach, 17, D8**

He smelled it before he saw it. Food, an unbelievable amount of food in a big, richly decorated wagon. So that was what a train was like in the inside. No wonder it was so expensive.

"And it's all yours to eat."

He stared blankly at the table, unable to move, barely processing the escort's patronizing tone. Was Aureus' dinner table like that? He tried to picture his sister as rosy-cheeked and fat. He failed but his lips twitched as he though of how safe Spindle finally was now.

A hand shoved him forward. His district partner nodded briskly towards the table. Tesu hastily wiped drool off his mouth.

"I need your help," he heard the girl say as he began to poke at the foreign foods, almost afraid it was some kind of joke, that they weren't edible after all.

"What can I do for you, Georgette?" The escort said, his voice making him think of honey. Tesu looked around, was there honey? He'd tasted it once and had loved it.

"Georgie. I'm sure it never shows in the cameras, how afraid we all are when we line up, how terrified the reaped tributes are. But you still don't see tributes as people, you're okay with it. How can I learn to be, for the Games? "

Tesu dropped the piece of… of something that he was going to pop in his mouth. His tore his eyes away from the food, now morbidly interested in what was being said.

"My dear, I absolutely see you as people. But people are not all equal, the strong will squash the weak, and only the deserving victor will emerge."

Suddenly the food had less appeal, Georgie's face had to mirror his own horror. What kind of monster was this man? Ambrose Dovey chuckled, cutting a slice of something that Tesu finally recognized as meat. Better looking meat than any he'd ever had.

"You two truly believe every man and woman had the same worth and should be shown the same kindness?"

Tesu thought of Raffia and Spindle. Of course not, but this was taking it too far.

"Tributes are reaped at random. It could be anyone, even admirable types," he said.

"Admire them then."

"But…."Georgie said, biting her lower lip. "I'd feel terrible if I had to kill them."

"Then don't."

Tesu gawked at Ambrose. The man was sipping at his glass, as if he was discussing the weather.

"But I'd die," The girl insisted, her voice rising.

"Indeed, my dear. You will most certainly unless you murder someone else."

The words rang over and over in Tesu's head._ Indeed_. Murder someone else. _Murder_.

"Mr. Dovey, shut your trap!"

Tesu turned, the only two champions from Eight, white haired Woof and the shy, twenty year old Cecelia, had decided to join them. Woof looked utterly disgusted.

"Just speaking the truth, Old Man. Cecelia dear was one of my first and she won. Won after a dry spell of over forty years for Eight. Lies kill as sure as swords."

Cecelia cringed visibly at his words, not returning his toothy smile. Woof glowered, putting a protective arm around the woman's shoulder.

"Let them eat in peace. We'll do our job later."

"Of course," Ambrose replied, looking unconcerned.

Tesu slowly began to nibble at a slice of bread, glad for the silence. It was delicious. Soon he was heaping new stuff on his plate for the third time.

* * *

**Harrow Carter, 18, D9**

Harrow heard his stomach grumble as he rose and stretched. He'd probably just gained a stone. Now that was a meal! Rose pointed at his sleeve, a small smile on her lips. Bugger! He'd dipped it in the sauce. He began wiping as much as he could with the table clothes they'd been given. The people helping out with food and dishes were oddly quiet. He wondered if it was part of their job. Fat Rose had been nagging at him about his table manners all meal. He'd let her teach him how to eat proper, happy to fool around some. He wondered how she'd learned, maybe healed some rich tyke who'd taken her out to dinner. Some rules were really stupid. Who cared about which hand you used?

"Harrow, good," their escort said as he walked closer to them. He'd been phoning someone. Harrow had forgotten the man's name again. He shot a pleading look to Rose, hoping she'd get it.

"Yes, Sir?" He said, curious about the other's happy expression.

"I just had your stylist on the line. You're getting that mummy costume for your interview, just don't bust your angle."

"What angle, Mr. Lorrel? Playful big kid?" Rose said, worry plain on her face. But she didn't sound disapproving.

_Mr. Lorrel_, how hard could that be to remember?

"People love the family types. Give them big and cuddly."

He could do that, maybe it wouldn't be so hard. "Great, bring it on!"

"But..." Rose said, "aren't we to show we're winner types? How's big and cuddly anything good for the Games?"

The escort seemed to think, like he was choosing his words. "You want people to want you to go home."

Rose's blue eyes met his before she sighed and put her face in her hands. Harrow looked down, at best one would be going home. He balled his fists. It shouldn't have been like this. Not him. Not one of his friends.

"Jarhead," he couldn't help himself from saying, "you should still be in Nine."

"I already got enough of that from Crisp, Harrow, thank you very much," Rose replied sharply, raising her head again.

She looked so beaten down Harrow felt really guilty. He went to put his arm around her. "Sorry, Rose. I'm just upset, I wouldn't have wanted them to volunteer for me either, not really."

"Nah, I'm a jarhead alright," Rose muttered, making herself comfortable in his arms.

"If you need me, I'll be next door, and it's Aegis," the escort said, leaving them alone.

Harrow internally groaned; just when he'd finally gotten the last name right. He turned his attention back on Rose. He didn't want her looking sad, they'd be plenty of time for that later, when the real bad stuff started.

"Allies?" He said with a grin.

Rose's lips twitched. "Jarhead."

* * *

**Bryony Succor, 13, D12.**

Bryony forced herself to slow down when the belt on her dress began digging into her stomach. She lifted her eyes from her plate and noticed her and the other tribute were alone. Except for the peculiar servants. They didn't speak at all or make eye contact, it scared her.

"It's good, isn't it," she told the boy. He had a big grease smudge on the cheek.

"Absolutely. I wonder where the escort went."

"She looked angry when she picked me," Bryony recalled.

"She has little to look forward to. Escorts live to exhibit their tributes' strengths."

"Boo hoo," Bryony said, digging into another potato, "I _so_ feel sorry for her."

The boy grinned at her sarcasm. "Atta girl, that's the spirit." His voice rose in a good imitation of Selina's accent. "Another bunch of useless hamsters, stuffing their cheeks with food and no threat at all!" He sighed in despair "Another year of losing face against the fierce, trained lions! Why, oh why, can't my hamsters beat the mighty lions from District Two!"

Bryony giggled as he mimed tearing his wig off in frustration and smearing makeup all over his face. Somehow the giggles dissolved into tears.

"I don't want to die," she said lamely between hiccups.

"Neither do I," the boy, Tinder or something, said softly, handing her a towel.

"But what can we do, Tinder?"

"It's Tindal, but just call me Dash." He paused."I run fast, very fast. Else… I can use a pickax."

"That's good Dash. I… I can cook most any plant that grows around home. I'm good at getting peacekeepers to like me, at not getting into trouble with them."

Dash smiled at her. "Four feet of cuteness. I'd have thought you were eleven, so to pampered Capitolites you'll probably look nine."

Four feet _one, _Bryony corrected in her head. It only made her feel worse.

"Yeah, but sponsors can only send me medicine if I survive getting wounded. Most tributes won't care about cute."

"You just need one who does," Dash said.

He was right. The thought cheered her up a little. Bryony then realized just how nice Dash was being. She was acting like she was the only one who'd been reaped. It was almost like having a real mentor. She blushed.

"You're right, thanks."

Dash handed her a roll. "Try these, you just can't die before having had a taste."

Bryony gave a weak laugh. Soon she was sucking on her fingers. The rolls were divine.

"Come," Dash said, "Let's hunt Haymich down. I feel like getting drunk myself."

Bryony's eyes widened. She opened her mouth to tell him it was bad before shutting it again. She was beyond giving a damn. Her lips twitched.

"Yeah, let's," she said, reluctantly moving away from the food.

They finally found their drunken mentor in one of the nearby compartments.

"Pass the bottle, Haymich," Dash said before the man could tell them off, "decadence holds high appeal on this day."

Bryony looked confused. What had he just said?

"Decadence?"

"I want to act rich and spoiled!" Dash said with a bright smile.

Haymich laughed. A loud, mocking sound. "Now we're talking." He barked another laugh. "She'll kill me, you know."

"Who cares!" The two tributes said in tandem.

Haymich snorted. "Two shots, girl, and you no more than four. You don't want to be sick all tomorrow," he said, his speech slurred, as he slammed two small glassed on the table.

"That'll be enough to stop you from thinking, lassies," de said, lifting his arm to clink Dash's outstretched glass.

"Santé," Dash said, clinking Bryony's with a grin.

Haymich snorted again. "Ain't you precious for a Seam kid."

"The ladies love it," Dash said proudly. He made a face as he swallowed his first sip of liquor.

Bryony understood why when the burn of alcohol made her eyes water. She gulped the rest of the glass down.

Haymich patted her on the hand with a heavy hand. "Slow down, Tiger. Can't have you throwing up on me. Do that well enough myself."

"Mr. Abernathy!"

They all cracked up on seeing the furious escort stomping in the rooms in her fluffy heels, tilting her nose as far back as her wig allowed.

"Why hullo, Sweetheart. Why don't you join the party?" Haymich said, lifting the half-empty bottle up.

"She's thirteen you wretched drunk!"

"Old enough to die for your bloody amusement, old enough to drink," the man shot back.

"What he said," Bryony shouted, loving how confident she felt. She should have tried alcohol way earlier.

The girl poured herself a second glass, savoring the escort's speechless expression.

"You… You have no sense of propriety! You…."

"Making us drink is worse than killing us?" Dash interrupted with a mocking grin.

"If you die," Selina screeched, "it will be your own fault! Because you were too lazy to train like everyone else while growing up."

Bryony almost spilled her glass at her words. She watched the escort leave, her mouth agape.

"Is she for real?" she asked, her voice cracking.

"Welcome to the Capitol, darlin'," Haymich said, throwing another glass down.

* * *

**Rachel Galloway, 16, D10**

They'd reached Eleven now, passing rows of trees heavy with ripe apples. It was ironic that the districts producing the most food were also the ones in which people starved the most. It was no secret that while Twelve was the poorest district, Eleven was the worst place to live in.

"I'm Chester, I..."

Rachel shut her eyes as the boy's voice interrupted her thoughts.

"Yes, you're seventeen, known as Messenger because you deliver the mail. You've got a goat and two cats. One of them is a French Chartreuse who dad operated last year, gorgeous too. Your uncle's got a sickness that makes him fat, so fat we had to use the cow's scanner for him. You were going to add anything else?"

What part of sitting as far as possible from him and staring firmly out of the window wasn't clear?

"Do you want me to leave?" he asked.

_Genius._

"Yup. It's not you, just…."

_Shut up, Rachel. _Don't apologize, don't open up.

"Just?" Chester pressed, a kind cast to his features.

Brilliant, mail-man couldn't just leave it.

"Female hormones don't mix with the reapings." Rachel tersely replied.

He had no more questions after that. _Rachel, you rule._

She patted her dyed hair, catching her reflection in the train window. Would they change it? She found the thought of them touching her hair suddenly unbearable. She didn't care if it was outdated, or even badly done by Capitol standards, and she couldn't care less if it wasn't glamorous. Her look was her own. She spent half her mornings with a hand up cows' and sheep's rectums when grown men squirmed just at the thought. No one had a right to tell how to look. Like it would make a difference anyway. She was just another girl from the outlying districts. More gifted tributes had failed to get sponsors before.

She scowled when the door opened again. It wasn't Chester, it was Corral, her mentor. She was all elbows and knees, probably fifty, with wrinkled skin and a chirpy way of talking that sounded fake.

" 'Lo, Rachel!"

Rachel's scowl grew more pronounced.

"A) It's Miss Galloway to you. I don't remember us raising any pigs together. B) If there's anything urgent you *must* tell me, I'm sure you know how to write and C)" Rachel added, not caring about the Corral's hurt expression, "you're a woman, thus more people attuned than Chester. If he can understand I want to be left alone, why can't you?"

Corral huffed. "Don't be a bitch."

_Ouch_, that sounded much less fake all of a sudden. Rachel got defensive. "You'd rather I cry? Wouldn't you think I'm nuts if I were just fine with everything?"

"Listen, you don't have much time to come to terms with.…"

Rachel cut her off. "No, _you_ listen. I totally get this Hunger Games deal. It's survive and kill other kids to survive longer. I don't see myself killing anyone unless if I switch into extra bitchy mode."

"Rachel, please," Corral said, back into chirpy mode.

"It's Miss Galloway! Listen, I promise you can give me all the talks you want if I win. I'm not going to go all rebellious. I'm not an idiot, so relax."

Apparently Corral couldn't get a hint.

"Denying the emotional pressure..."

"Is what every bloody person on this train is doing right now! Kids are going to murder each other on TV. Denial is what teenagers are awesome at. It won't be the thing to kill me, trust me on that," Rachel said, finishing with a bitter laugh.

The girl wished she had some gum to chew. She was lying with her arms crossed on the plushy sofa, and determined to at least enjoy the material comfort she was offered.

Corral looked stricken at her words. Rachel's esteem for the woman went from low to below zero.

"Oh don't tell me you need me to cooperate so you can keep your chill mentor attitude up. Who's the adult here?"

Corral let out a shaky breath and finally decided to leave.

Rachel huffed, squishing the twinge of rising guilt. Hurting her mentor's feelings was nothing compared to what she would have to do to win.

* * *

**Apple Coppicing, 18, D11**

She'd been had. Although she was positive the gorgeous bald boy had not done it on purpose.

"Chaff, I'm no brawler, I can't do what you said."

Mesmer had asked if Seeder could mentor him instead, looking all vulnerable like a lost child. Such a beautiful boy, even if his eyes were the stuff of nightmares. He was an orphan, it would be his only chance to have something like a mum for a little while, so Apple had let him go with the graying woman. She had rarely seen someone looking so soul-strong as Seeder. Near all old people had weight dragging them down but the mentor stood tall and proud.

Chaff was a tall, solid man in his late thirties. He was missing a forearm but he seemed right in the head. Unfortunately he wouldn't listen to her. She was even more dead than she'd thought.

"You don't need to do nothing, Apple, you just need to pretend you're hiding your true talents and get people to believe you're useful so they'll ally."

She was to pretend she was only just pretending at being useless? Apple felt tears beginning to prickle in her eyes. This was so hopeless.

"Girl, don't cry."

Apple cringed at his gruff tone. Chaff's expression morphed into anger. He stormed out of the room. Apple sunk to her knees, struggling to breathe. If even her mentor gave up on her, what was she going to do? Not play the game. She wouldn't. She wouldn't make those awful people in the Capitol have a good time while watching her die. They couldn't make her.

"Taking a nap." She scribbled on a paper in case Chaff came back early.

She opened her eyes, her head pounding and her neck aching something fierce. Her escort's face was hovering over hers. Apple was lying on the floor.

A failure, she was such a failure. The curtain she had tried to hang herself with was being given to an Avox.

"Child, you listen to me, you listen to me very carefully," the Capitol woman said, a bruising grip on Apple's arm despite her light tone. "You will do nothing outside what is expected of you, you will follow the path set for each and every tribute. I will not tell your mentors about this incident and you will stop trying to waste your life. This is not what you really want."

Apple couldn't believe the woman's nerve. _She_ was wasting her life?

"Now go ask Chaff what's expected of you before you embarrass Eleven more by being the umpteenth moronic troublemaker."

"We just want food and less harsh production quotas. If you people weren't so intent on bleeding us dry..." Apple seethed.

The escort slapped a hand on the girl's mouth, her bracelets chiming as she did.

"You're losing your mind, control yourself!"

Apple ground her teeth. "Ma'am," she said tightly.

"Berenice, Child, Berenice."

If she was a child, why were they sending her to die? She let her feet drag her back to Chaff who was standing in front of a window, looking out.

"Naps don't seem to suit you," he said with a lopsided grin, smelling like liquor.

She guessed she did look a fright. "Uh, I need to know what I'll be doing in the next days, as in what's expected."

Could she sound any less defeated? Did she even want to put in the energy to pretend otherwise?

Chaff blew his cheeks out before beginning to count fingers. "Chariot rides, you'll be hot waxed and made pretty. Then training, days one, two and three where you show off, polish your angle. I'll help you with that, and you'll have to find allies. Day four, you give the gamemakers a performance and you're marked out of twelve. Then you've got a few hours to pull yourself together and grab a bite before surrendering to your stylists because it's interview night. You'll be asked questions in front of the Capitol. Next day, you enter the arena at two pm."

Apple nodded, something nagging at her.

"You want to think about it alone?" Chaff said.

She nodded absently again.

"Fine, I'll be seeing Haymich in wagon twelve. I need another drink."

_Interview night, you'll be asked questions in front of the Capitol. Interview. Questions. Follow the path. Waste your life._

No. It wasn't what she wanted. She wanted to make a statement before she died. And if the Capitol offered her an interview on a platter... She'd have to work her phrasing. She'd make it short and to the point, do the damage before they could take her away. She wouldn't die for nothing.

_Another moronic troublemaker_. Berenice had stressed _moronic_. Maybe the escort was on her side. She went looking for the woman.

"Thank you, Berenice," she said, more at peace than she'd ever been, "can you tell me a bit about the Capitol. What games children play at, how you choose your husbands?"

_What values you have so I can point out how petty, or if I'm lucky, hypocritical, you all are._

Berenice's painted lips blossomed into a large smile. She clapped her hands together.

"Why of course," she said, her eyes shining with excitement. Looking hard, Apple realized there was something sad and serious about Berenice.

* * *

**Yolo Underbush, 13, D7**

The boy stretched, enjoying the softness of the bed. He could see the towering fortress city in the distance. Just a couple of hours before they reached the Capitol. He looked up at the sky. Midday at least. He couldn't believe he'd slept for twelve hours straight. He was bursting with energy.

Gamina and their mentors were already seated in the main compartment with a monstrous amount of food before them. The silent servants were standing at the back of the room. Yolo had tried talking to one the day before, but they'd looked so scared at being treated as people that he'd let it go.

"Hi," he said with a grin.

"Thought you'd died in you sleep or something," Gamina said, smiling back.

"Did I miss important mentoring stuff?"

Pan and Blight chuckled. Their smiles were tense, Yolo wished they didn't feel so bad about everything.

"Nothing we can't squeeze in the next couple of hours. Going rested into the arena might just make the difference between life and death, you're lucky." Blight said, just as friendly as he'd been the day before.

Yolo smiled at him. He gathered they'd have woken him if it had been important anyway. He was still trying to remember all the stuff about old arenas, sponsor expectations and common tricks when they slowed down to enter the huge reinforced gates of the Capitol. People, hundreds of people dressed like colorful birds, were standing on the sides of the railway. They were cheering, genuine, happy cheering.

Yolo began blowing kisses at all the pretty ladies he spotted among the crowd.

"Oh stop it, this is embarrassing and pathetic."

"Pathetic never killed anyone, trust me," Yolo told Gamina with a slightly apologetic expression before turning his attention back to the almost frenzied crowd. Peacekeepers had to keep people away from the tracks.

Gamina huffed, refusing to lower herself to smiling for the crowds.

Yolo didn't understand why she made a big deal about it. Anything for sponsors. Besides, there were even kids there, pointing and giggling at them. They weren't being mean, they truly were loving seeing the tributes pass. That Yolo couldn't understand. How could rich children not have exciting and fulfilling lives? They had everything here. The train shouldn't have been such big a deal, not for the older kids anyway.

"Remember you goal, Gamina. Is being temperamental worth it?" Blight said.

Gamina let out a growl. "I can't pretend to enjoy brown nosing. I just can't."

Yolo almost sighed. No allying with her then. Not when she'd be difficult about the silliest things.

He blinked, almost blinded by the array of colors before him. So this was the Capitol. No wonder they had no clue about real life in the districts. This place was out of the world. He grinned at a girl his age, swishing his long hair out of his face. She looked ready to swoon.

Yolo laughed. These people were so silly.

* * *

**Welcome to the Capitol!**

**Please review.  
**


	16. Chariot rides

**POV: Livius Ostrovski, Head Gamemaker**

The coliseum was decorated with hanging banners and drapes of a rare flamboyance, even by Capitol standards. The colors shifted with the clamors of the crowd, bringing the stone structure to life. People stared as they sat down, chatting excitedly about the decor, almost forgetting the impeding chariot ride. Livius would have to commend Titiana for her stupendous designs. Getting the Capitol to gape was no mean feat.

"The tributes seem ready," President Zephyr said, his tattooed eyes on the screen showing the prep rooms. He never seemed content anymore.

The two of them were alone in the richest alcove of the stadium. Not only had they the best view on the arena and giant screens that would offer a zoom of the chariots but also private screens that enabled them to monitor every tribute's words and actions from the moment they set foot in the prep rooms to the end of the rides.

The Head Gamemaker rose, the giant screens flickered and lit up. The wild crowd turned to face him as one, showering him in applause and cheers. Livius smiled, his arms open in a welcoming gesture.

His deep voice boomed across the arena. "A fine day to greet the gentry and finest ladies of Panem," he said, tipping his head to the audience.

The cheers grew deafening. Unlike the sour President, they were so easy to please. Livius felt some of his nervousness ebb away.

"Welcome all Panem! May the sixty-third Hunger Games begin, prepare to be surprised."

The wide carved gates concealing the District One tributes opened amidst thunderous applause.

Four white stallions of the purest breed majestically came into view, pulling a richly decorated chariot that seemed entirely wrought gold and ivory. Carnelia's shimmering silver robe reached her feet and her wrists. Her auburn hair covered her whole upper body and was sparkling with gems of every kind, giving her an aura of fierceness and nobility. The wicked-looking short sword in her right hand shone in the sun. Armagnac Dessonges had a silver armor and a gleaming long sword with an elaborate handle. A cloak of white mink was tied to his shoulders. A crown of sapphires rested on his head, like a monarch of old.

The crowd oohed, almost subdued as they admired the pair. Livius smirked, his mustache twitching in anticipation. It was only the beginning.

Thanks to the skillfully placed listening devices, he could hear the two tributes as if he was standing near them.

"Right, let's get this show going."

"Carnelia, don't. Seriously, don't."

The girl lifted her dress, adroitly climbed on the closest horse's back and cut it loose, leaving only three to pull the chariot. Her short sword held high above her, she sped to the finish line before doubling back. She circled the chariot twice shouting an obvious challenge to the crowd. She quietened as she galloped towards the finish line, holding onto the spooked horse for dear life.

Livius clapped with the others, albeit with more restraint than the crowd now chanting her name. It was obvious the tribute wasn't a great rider but she still had made a name for herself. Impressive considering the lack of imagination most Careers tended to display.

"You stole my show."

"Poor little dear."

Livius smirked again at their childish bickering. District Two's chariot would steal the girl's show, no tribute could hope to compete against him.

The grizzlies came in roaring, causing screams of surprise and fear to rise in the audience before they erupted into their loudest cheers yet. Never had animals other than horses pulled the chariots. Never would they again, not for generations. Not when it had already been done. Livius let himself bask in the crowd's roars of approval. Powerful and ferocious, the grizzlies couldn't keep the spotlight away from the stunning couple on the black steel chariot. The Head Gamemaker was far from unhappy from it, on the contrary, good show-worthy tributes was the only thing he had no control of, and this year, the odds had not failed him.

The blonde Aurora cut a devastating figure in her tight-fitting black and red leather combat suit. Livius found his mouth go dry as his eyes roamed over her curves. Her district partner was just as stunning in a much darker and daunting fashion. He wore only black leather trousers with huge guns strapped to his back and legs. His exposed body was painted in black and scarlet war motives. A blood curdling sight.

The girl's calm voice broke the spell. "Don't let One steal your Prince Charming angle, lift me up."

"Allies or sacrificial?"

"Sacrificial, I like that, and you look the voodoo type."

The towering youth lifted his beautiful partner with a roar, startling the crowd into silence. He had her over his head, while she lay limp, fragile as a porcelain doll. Her head was thrown back, offering the crowd a fantastic view of her flawless face and cleavage.

District One was forgotten as hysterical shouts of 'Aurora' and 'Corsair' rose through the stadium.

"They're loving it."

"Your chest seems to be more interesting than mine."

"Men are just more vocal about it."

"We make a good team."

"I agree. No point in changing something that works, partners?"

"Partners, Aurora."

Livius' lips twitched in delight. True couples were such a treat in the arena.

The crowd's screams morphed to fright when two green, two yard high, thin legged giant spiders, came into view. They were lazily crawling on webs of colored optic fibers inside a large rolling sphere of woven wire. It dragged a futuristic looking chariot. Bolts of electricity sizzled under the tributes and showered sparks on the ground.

The tributes were clad as cyborgs, half-men, half-machine. Sullen in his dull gray suit, Algor was clearly outshone by Mercury in her rigid short metal skirt and low cut bustier. Gloves of the same metallic fabric covered her arms and echoed her high heels. Dozens of rows of colored lights and small electric discharges ran all over the two tributes' costumes. They had a glowing green disk on one of their eyes, adding to their robotic look.

The girl sounded rather ungrateful, although nothing other than her voice betrayed that fact.

"We're already nutters to most districts and now spiders, weird monstrous spiders?"

"It's always been Spiders and Monkeys."

"What the hell is wrong with monkeys!"

"Mercury, relax, don't we want a memorable chariot?"

"To be remembered as the spiders people in robot suits? Yeah, that sells."

"Why are you focusing on that? I thought you were all for positive thinking."

"I am. The wooden board underneath our feet is burning from the electricity sizzling all around us. I hope this is timed right, or we'll be electrocuted."

"Oh shit."

Livius frowned, twisting his golden whiskers as he shot the impassive President a nervous glance. He hoped the chariots had been thoroughly tested before the rides.

"And I have hair in my eyes. Braids do have a point."

"Yeah that's so much worse than electrocution, hair in your eyes. I'm suffering too, the underwear they gave me is a bit too tight."

"See, you do have a sense of humor, Algor."

Unremarkable but hardly unintelligent. Livius had no intention to dismiss any tribute so early in the Games. He let out the breath he'd been holding when the chariots stopped without a problem. The pair of water buffaloes pulling the gliding seashell chariot of District Four had a rare elegance for such bulky beasts. Twin helmets of pearls rested between their sharp horns. Dust rose in puffs and the ground shook where their hooves fell.

The crowd cheered for the beautiful mermaid and her… _pet crab_?

Livius chuckled. Marcus was a dear friend of his and he'd let him free reign on designing Four's costumes. He hadn't expected such a creative way to show his support of the girl tribute.

Understandably, Orvis Anchor showed his annoyance in an animated way.

"Right, I'm no Career, but do they have to rub it in?"

"Stop waving those pincers around!"

"Paloma, don't hate me."

"What?"

The shorter boy attacked his district tribute, pinning her against the back of the chariot and waving his free pincer menacingly. With her legs imprisoned by the glimmering fish tail, the girl almost fell on the ground. It was hysterical, Livius made a mental note to buy Marcus a drink.

"Orvis!"

"They asked for it!"

"I didn't! I'm almost falling off! Get off or I'm punching you!"

Orvis helped her back upright and bowed to the laughing crowd.

"Sorry."

People were still wiping tears off their faces when six huskies burst out of the side doors, their energetic leaps lighting yellow diodes on the sides of the wooden large sleigh they were dragging. The wheels were perfectly concealed in the smooth underside. The proud-looking boy tribute was dressed as fire and the small girl was air, that anyone could see at first glance. They were more heavily dressed than any other tributes. The final result was impressive. The tributes from Five hadn't looked so great in at least a decade.

The chariot was bouncing, literally bouncing. The dogs were too strong.

Luckily the crowd only found it amusing. Livius shot another furtive glance at the President, but he seemed pleased enough.

"Help! We're all going to die!"

"Please, my ears."

"We're all going to die."

Livius heard Zephyr chuckle softly at the girl's peeved low tones. The man had a grim expression on his face. Livius was beginning to truly fear his inexplicable moods, even if the president never took them out on him.

"Thank you. Aren't those huskies beautiful?"

"They're dogs. I'm more of a cat person."

"Mouse? A cat person. Who'd have thought, you have layers."

"Asshole."

Livius shared the sentiment. The spoiled brat's mother had managed to pull in favors to have the privileges of a Capitol citizen along with her husband during the Games, notably sponsoring. The logistics to make sure they wouldn't cause a riot when the Gleeb boy died would be a pain. There was a reason why the Capitol and the Districts were kept separate.

The two stopped next to the water buffaloes amidst polite applause, although the handsome boy's proud demeanor seemed to have conquered a few girls' hearts.

Eight giant albino lab mice ran in two separate two-yard high hamster wheels which pulled a shimmering white chariot forward out of the great golden side doors.

The nurse costume would've been enticing on a slender girl, on Hawk Dorkas it was ridiculous. The girl knew it and looked furious. She was therefore playing into the stylist's hands: her numerous facial rings had been painted blood red along with her lips. She had a two foot long syringe in her hands. A serial killer nurse. Livius wondered, not for the first time, what Hestia smoked in her free time.

The boy tribute was a stork. An adorable stork. He flapped his arms, puffing up and earning himself 'Awws' from women in the crowd.

Livius' lips thinned, tributes were supposed to match. Maybe Hestia had been left free too long. He shifted his attention to the screen at his feet.

"I don't know which one of us has more of a right to bitch, Drake."

"Vampire nurse is kind of cool."

"How do you even get Mice big as buffaloes? Twelve could ride one!"

"They're cuter than Mutts."

"Fucking right, kiddo, fucking right."

How coarse.

Livius found himself balling his fists from sheer nerves as the wooden chariot with Seven's tributes came into view. He hoped the animals wouldn't be temperamental this time. Eight beavers sat on a smaller chariot in front of the big one, pressing on buttons with their tails which activated a mechanism which made the two chariots' wooden wheels turn.

The two tributes were wooden puppets, dressed only in dark green underclothes, their painted skin bearing an uncanny resemblance to cherry wood. They even had strings tying them to a pole in the chariot, like real stage puppets. The girl was particularly attractive but the boy was beaming so much he seemed to radiate light.

"That's pretty clever." The boy said, echoing Livius' thoughts.

"Yolo, stop giving them what they want."

"But we are puppets of the Capitol. Better survive it than deny it."

"Fine. You play along."

"Are you really sure your pride is worth it, Gamina?"

"Yes! Besides they're already chanting my name."

"That's because they don't know the name of your breasts."

"Excuse me? Never too young to be a pervert, I see."

"It's the truth."

"I need an ax. And stop grinning!"

"Never."

"Gah! You're infuriating!"

Livius disagreed, he found himself liking the young blond boy. He lazily turned his head towards District Eight's chariot. Six pashmina goats of the purest white trotted on the beaten track. Rugs of every shade of brown and red covered every inch of the steel chariot. In the same way, the two tributes wore flowing patchworks of fabric, covering everything but their faces. An exotic design, very effective. There was no point of showing off the skinnier tributes' flesh. There was nothing aesthetic to it. Livius was glad to see some very inspired designs. Then again, he'd spent enough time warning the stylists to impress him...

The girl's face was very attractive, and the stylist had compensated on the boy by making him a glowing halo, seemingly floating above his head, like a saint of old. His volunteering had already gained him sympathy in the Capitol but he still wasn't expected to make it far.

The girl waved, with a big smile on her face. Livius figured it might just fool people. The crowd sounded fooled enough.

"Why do people say goats are ugly? These are the cutest things!"

"Tesu, please don't talk. I'm having trouble not puking all over myself for being such a hypocrite."

"Right. Sorry. Mind if I copy?"

"Yes. But I'll get over it."

The Asian-looking boy began to wave too, to the crowd's delight.

It was the children who cheered the loudest when the four reindeer dragged Nine's chariot in.

"Santa Claus," they chanted.

Except the tributes were nothing like Santa or his little helpers. Rosemary Shakra looked like a more womanly version of Artemis in her waist-hugging pale green dress, a bow slung over her shoulder and a crown of wheat heads in her hair. The big muscled boy by her side wore similarly light brown shorts and a hunting bow, fox pelts over his shoulders.

"Never seen a stag like that before."

"Those are no stags, Harrow."

"No? What are they doing there?"

"No idea."

Livius sighed. It was sad to think some people would not appreciate the time and thought he'd put in designing the chariots. Reindeer brought presents, a synonym for bountiful harvests. How hard could it be to see? Ignorant tributes.

"What do we do now?"

"Smile and wave. You're mighty handsome."

"But the others..."

"Don't be a fool. We be pretty now. We'll be dangerous or daring later."

"I could lift you up, Rose."

"And I could kick your balls but I'm not doing it, am I?"

"But Rose!"

"Harrow don't be a baby. We get hurt now, we enter the arena hurt."

"Yes, Ma."

"Shut up and look lovable."

They made a stunning pair. Only the one from Two outshone them on looks alone. Livius finally let himself relax and smile. This day was perfect.

Ten's chariot was classic, just covered in studded leather and pulled by two muscled bulls. The two tributes were dressed as cowboys although the girl looked more the cowgirl stripper, especially with her out of place magenta hair. They both had rope whips in their hands.

"They're slow."

"They're heavy, of course they're slow."

"Then let's make this interesting. Yehaa!"

Rachel Galloway jumped on top of one of the bulls, spurring it and whipping the air next to her.

Livius held his breath, just as much as the crowd. Unlike the girl from One, this one knew what she was doing, but the man couldn't help but expect the bull to buckle. He couldn't lose a tribute to the chariot rides, it would be a terrible mess.

"Jump off, Chester. Now!"

It was lucky the boy did, or they'd have had a crippled tribute to deal with. The now panicked wild cows continued on and had to be sedated to stop the chariot.

"They're laughing themselves silly. But Rachel, never do that again."

Livius wanted to shout at the girl too. The bears were beginning to fuss. They didn't need the provocation. Of course the crowd loved her. She had spunk, but she'd better behave.

"All in one piece, Cowboy?"

"Just bruised knees. You're insane, you know that?"

"They're still laughing Messenger, that's the sound of life. Life for us."

That little smile from the President again. There was nothing joyful about it. Livius repressed a shiver.

Four chestnut draft horses pulled the unremarkable chariot from Eleven. The two tributes were fruit baskets, the most beautiful fruit arrangements Livius had ever seen. The girl had a crown of grapes on her heads and a necklace of litchis around her neck , a dress with strings of oranges, apples and pears instead of folds and cherries, strawberries and lemon slices all over her torso.

The skinny boy just wore trousers of celery, carrots and chili peppers and a long necklace of radishes around his neck. He was so stunning that he still outshone the girl by a mile. His blazing unnerving green eyes burned through the crowd. Livius was certain this particular color would become in fashion in the days to come, such a shame adopting it would be seen as taking sides. They rode in silence before the youngster surprised them all by juggling with incredible agility. With the girl's oranges and apples, revealing her legs for all to see. He soon had no less than a dozen fruit up in the air while she had no more than four inches of modesty left on the front of her dress.

Livius smirked as the crowd wolf-whistled and cheered. Chants of "Legacy! Legacy!" rose above the stadium.

"It's Mesmer the Magician," he bellowed, in a voice surprisingly deep for someone so frail. He still had the fruit in the air.

The crowd was only too happy to adopt his given nickname. Those who didn't chant his name wolf whistled at the now partly unclothed girl's long legs.

"Perverts."

"I could've gone for the cherries. I figured you'd mind showing your legs off less."

"Aren't you cute. I appreciate that you didn't."

Livius would have to watch the girl. She made her disdain for the Capitol too obvious to be acceptable.

A black steel chariot drawn by soot-colored pit ponies creaked as it was carted slowly around the coliseum. This chariot had a different shape than the others: the back plank was shaped like a C to cast a shadow on the tributes so that the lantern light gave an eerie glow to their features, like they were deep in mine tunnels. The tributes' darkened bodies gave the illusion they were almost naked. The boy had sharp pickax in his right hand while the waif-like little girl carried the heavy lantern. For such a pathetic scene, it was artfully done.

"I beg to differ, Six were the hamsters and Two were only bears, not lions. Pit ponies are solid stuff."

"Terribly sorry, Bryony, my mistake."

"How can we get them to really clap?"

"Put fire to the chariot."

"What's plan B?"

"Climb on the roof of the chariot?"

"Err, help me up?"

"Of course, don't worry. The ponies are slow, you won't be thrown off."

Livius humored them by clapping softly. He liked fighters. They got their cheers, even if they weren't half as loud as the ones for Eleven had been.

At the end of the rides, the twelve empty chariots went to align themselves in a circle in the middle of the stadium.

"The chariots will stay here during the games. The victor will ride in triumph once more before addressing Panem on the morn after their victory. May the odds ever be in your favor!"

The Head Gamemaker was positive the deafening cheers could be heard all the way to District One. The Capitol was in for a real surprise. And Livius doubted they would like that part, but they would never forget it. He liked the sheer transgression of the President's twist.

"Very good, Livius, very good," Zephyr said, granting him a small smile.

Perfect, the Games would be perfect.

* * *

**Author's Notes  
**

**If everyone who's read up to this point could leave a review, so that I may know how many readers I have so far, I'd be very grateful. **

**I don't expect people to review every single chapter they read (I hardly ever do when I read a story), but since this marks the 'welcoming' of the tributes by the Capitol, it's sort of a turning point chapter, and I'd really like you to put in the effort to leave a review.  
**


	17. TD1: Rivals assessed and waters tested

**Here starts training. Five POV for day one, with four girls and one boy. The genders will balance out over the three days, it just made more sense this way.  
**

**I like making alliance networking a complex thing. =D**

**Enjoy!**

* * *

**Carnelia Aspen, 16, D1**

Zenobia was a muscled woman in her forties with sun-weathered skin and a competitive glint in her eyes.

The Head Trainer had given the tributes strict rules and an almost worrying speech about making sure that by the time she was through, no one would know who to bet on. Carnelia figured it was just something to cheer up the untrained tributes. Three days could never be enough for them to match her.

Zenobia finished by introducing to them the athletic teenager by her side. "This is Trainer Atala, she'll most probably take my place one day, feel free to ask her or any of the weapons instructors for any advice."

Carnelia arched her eyebrows. They groomed them young in the Capitol.

The Career didn't move as they were dismissed. The untrained tributes were scared little things, prone to making mistakes. Her mentor Cashmere had told her to pay attention, because the first moments of training were when personalities were revealed.

Carnelia looked around, a predatory smirk on her lips. Yes, there were three very distinct types of tributes.

There were those who rushed to their best stations wanting to show they were good. Carnelia wanted to laugh at them, most of them were barely competent at best, especially with weapons. Nine's arrow was one full inch away from the center of the target, pathetic.

Then those who rushed to plants or survival, a laughable determined cast to their faces, hoping to learn everything they could. Surely if that knowledge could be acquired in three measly days they'd already have spent three days of their lives acquiring it? It was so much fun to see them struggle.

And the last, the smallest group, the watchers. Some because they already knew they were hopeless, others doing the same thing as her, with more or less conviction on their features. The boy from Five gave her a haughty look when their eyes met. Carnelia licked her teeth, making him scowl. Ha.

The boy from Eleven caught her eye. He had strapped a belt full of small throwing knives around his waist. He didn't seem like much despite his rare good looks but the leonine girl remembered his reaping. The first knife flew and landed on the far target with a thunk. At the very edge of it. Carnelia snorted.

She froze when Eleven's hands moved again. One, two, twelve knives, in very rapid succession, all at the edge of the target, forming the twelve cardinal points of a clock. Eleven then did a backflip, letting the last knife go before his feet hit the ground. The knife was close enough to the bullseye that it didn't matter.

Wicked.

Too wicked.

Even Two's thin lips were parted in surprise.

Carnelia shook herself and hastily glanced around the room, taking in the other's reactions. Most looked thunderstruck, others despaired or terrified. Five looked almost greedy while the Three girl next to him seemed thoroughly impressed. The Seven boy was actually clapping from the ropes course, his jaw scraping the floor.

Eleven bowed to him before flicking a knife which landed a foot above the blonde boy's head, embedding itself into one of the thick ropes. A red ribbon was tied to it. One of the ribbons that was used to mark bushes in the plant station.

Where had he pulled that knife out from? The belt had been empty!

Suddenly Carnelia didn't want to have anything to do with him. She hated tricks.

She scowled as the Two girl's face broke into an appraising smile. _No_. Not in her team.

Carnelia met the blonde's district partner's eyes and violently shook her head. He nodded once, a somber cast to his features. She breathed in relief and went to look at weapons. No whips except for a small leather one. She snorted. What was that for? Killing rabbits? Probably too.

She signaled the young trainer over. Atala was sixteen at most, yet Carnelia was reluctantly impressed by her serious demeanor.

"Yes, tribute?"

"I need a chain whip."

"We have those in the reserve. 36, 42 or 51 inches?"

"42." Carnelia said, concealing her relief with a satisfied smile.

* * *

**Orvis Anchor, 15, D4**

Paloma had agreed to spar against him, her rapier against his trident and net. He ignored the condescending look in One's gray eyes._ Yes people use tridents and nets in Four_, he wasn't there to be original.

Paloma slaughtered him, cutting the net to shreds and disarming him in less than eight fluid motions. She had the grace of a dancer when she fought. She made him look like a clumsy kid.

Then she grinned and asked for a rematch. Orvis winced but agreed, after all he couldn't make more of a fool of himself.

She went much easier on him. They sparred for a full five minutes before he moved back, his whole body aching.

"Thanks," he smiled, panting heavily, "I've showed off enough."

"You're good." The boy from One said, almost kindly, earning himself a snort from his district partner.

"Not good enough." the leonine girl said. "You got anything to sell except that?"

Orvis colored and stiffly went to grab a harpoon. His aim was a bit off but the weapon went right through the thirty yard away target.

"We've got two big boys already for muscles, Four." She said, unbearably condescending.

"Are they any good at ranged attacks? Better not just rely on just one person." Paloma said, putting a hand on his shoulder before he could reply.

Orvis shot her a grateful look; his outburst would probably have made his look even more ridiculous.

The giant boy from Two smiled thinly. He went to see a trainer and soon returned with a handful of weird weapons that looked like two weights held together by a short chain.

"What are those?"

"Bolas." Paloma whispered back.

"I'm Corsair." The tall career said, tipping his head to Orvis.

The russet haired boy gulped, feeling he was about to be shown up.

"Aurora, freeze!" Corsair called.

His district partner was next to Eleven, forty yards away. Orvis figured the two had some kind of unspoken knife throwing contest on. Aurora's knives were much scarier but it looked like the younger boy was winning. Then, Orvis was no expert.

To Orvis' amazement, Aurora did freeze, tense as a lobster over boiling water but not moving a muscle as the bola sailed for her and wrapped itself around her neck. She winced, but flashed Corsair a small smile.

He could've killed her! Corsair face looked oddly kind for a second.

"Thank you, Aurora" he said, taking the weights off her neck.

"Okay, thanks, Paloma, but I'm not cut out for this. I'll go with someone else." Orvis decided, his heart thumping loudly in his chest. These people were insane.

"You're leaving me alone with them?" She said, still under shock. "But yeah, steer clear, Orvis, it might be better."

Zenobia walked up to the couple from Two, shaking her head furiously.

"That was the most irresponsible display I have seen in the last fifteen years! Some people are born with more fragile necks than others, you know, had you checked? And you notice I'm not even considered you might have miscalculated your shot!"

It was almost funny to see the woman shouting at the much taller Career.

"And now look at the bruises! Maybe she'd have liked to show her pretty neckline at the interviews, didn't you think?"

This time Corsair did react. "We receive medicine for training wounds." He said, shooting Aurora a worried glance.

"Accidently self-inflicted, yes, inflicted by others, not necessarily. And that's why you're _not. Supposed. To. Spar together_!" Zenobia loudly stressed, flashing Orvis and Paloma a pointed look.

"It's okay, there is doubtless parsley in the healing section." Aurora said softly, briefly squeezing Corsair's hand.

There was definitely something going on between these two.

"Arnica too, and it's more effective." Paloma volunteered, now also shaking her head and walking up to Aurora. "Don't worry, Head Trainer, I'll kill them first in the arena if they try to do something so remotely stupid again."

Zenobia huffed but left them alone.

"If you forget the danger, brilliant way of making a statement, Guys." Paloma whispered.

Corsair still looked a little annoyed, not lifting his eyes off Aurora's neck.

"Let it go, Corsair! It's nothing," Aurora said with a wave of her hand. She was so feminine in everything she did that Orvis almost caught himself drooling. It wasn't fair, even when they weren't doing anything the Careers were better than him.

"Arnica, you say? Great." She added, flashing Paloma a small, almost hesitant, but genuine smile, revealing perfect teeth and adorable dimples. Orvis had to force himself to tear his eyes off her to check out Paloma's reaction.

Paloma frowned at the girl's words, looking at Aurora oddly.

Orvis sighed, deciding to tag along just to see how bruise balms or whatever were done.

"How can you know parsley can be used to treat bruises but not arnica?" Paloma asked after a while.

Aurora tensed. "Well, my brother has a soft spot for wounded creatures and parsley's easier to get. A little bird had fallen out of his nest, my mother showed us."

Paloma's frown was less pronounced but not gone. She was silenced by a warning glance from Corsair. Orvis felt he'd missed something important.

* * *

**Skye Blip "Mouse", 17, D5. **

Mouse ducked and dodged, jumping to the side, balling up when the heavy hard-moss balls headed for her. She leaped on the next rectangular platform and ducked again as a rod cut the air where her head had been moments before.

She arrived at the end of the course, drained but proud not to have been thrown off. She knew swift reflexes might be her only advantage over the Careers, but wondered whether this would still save her against knives and swords.

Three minutes fourteen. Was that a good time? It was two minutes better than the first time she'd attempted the course but five seconds more than her last try. She was tiring. She wanted to ask a trainer but was too shy to seek the man overseeing her progress at the entrance of the section.

She decided to go to the plants section, careful to avoid any eye contact with other tributes, while she waited for one of the Careers to head for the Gauntlet.

The boys from One and Two finally went there with the girl from Four. Mouse's eyes were sad. They were so pretty, all of them so healthy, without shadows on their faces and worry lines around their eyes. Two especially was built like a creature of dreams, so handsome despite how cold he looked. No one, not even her oh-so-self-entitled district partner, looked so good in Five.

Two minutes forty six. The girl had been the fastest, followed closely by Two, who was so tall he actually jumped _over _the rods that had aimed for Mouse's head.

Mouse grit her teeth. How could she have hoped to compete? She wasn't clever, not enough to win by sneaking around. What was the point in training? Three days were nothing.

"You'll just hurt yourself doing that."

Mouse jumped, backing against the wall. Four lifted his hands up in the air, his eyes kind.

"Hey, I meant no harm, just saying. They're scary. Better not try and measure up. They're pants at making shelters and finding their own food though, usually. So there's that."

Mouse nodded, she turned around and ran for the shelter building station.

The short haired girl balled her fists up as she was alone again. She had to stop being so skittish around everyone. No one would care if she wasn't used to closed spaces and felt buried alive in the underground training center, or that she slept during the day and lived at night so she felt tired all the time. Poor Four had just wanted to help. It wasn't his fault if the lights hurt her eyes and made everything seem much scarier.

Shelters. No one had gone there yet. She pressed on a button and began watching the tutorial video on wood-made shelters.

* * *

**Rosemary Shakra, 18, D9**

Plants held no secret from her. She knew how to build a fire and to hunt and the instructors at the survival station only taught common sense knowledge. There was no point of risking injury at the fitness stations so she left Harrow to go fight with a cudgel while she went to see the snares. Surely if she could make complex bandages and casts a rough snare shouldn't be too hard? She knew Harrow had trapped rabbits and foxes before but she still was curious to see for herself.

The girls from Three and Eight were already there, at two opposite sides of the room. Three was taking stuff Rosemary had never seen from the shelves. It looked like the advanced physics stuff on some of the pictures of their books at school; the ones they'd never understand that were just there to show them the subject could be cool. She walked up to the black-haired girl, curious.

"Stay back!" Three suddenly shouted, rushing towards her.

Rosemary froze, she felt a sharp pain at the back of her knee and her legs give away as the girl collided into her. The two fell backwards, Rosemary's head would have slammed against the ground had Three's hand not been under it.

A whip-like noise and sizzling sounds could be heard next to them. Rosemary wrinkled her nose as they rose, it stank.

"You just step on wire nets like that when they're lying on the ground?" a breathless Three said, incredulous and checking her hand for bruises.

Rosemary looked down. Indeed there were little bits of melted metal touching each other. That had been a snare? Metal? She didn't know they used metal snares in Three.

"Oh sorry. What's the smell?"

"Burnt wire." Three said, plainly wondering if she was stupid. "Hence my looking for a resistor."

The black haired girl sighed at Rosemary's frown, and smiled weakly.

"Ever studied how electrical conduction works, Rosemary?"

The shapelier girl frowned, suspicious. She hadn't seen the girl watching her. "How do you know my name?"

"Reapings. I'm Mercury." She said, now friendly-looking.

Figures. Rosemary hadn't bothered looking at them except for the Career districts and her own. It was just pain and pain and pain otherwise. Four had been hard enough already even if it showed how lucky people were there. A cancer like that didn't get no cure where she lived.

She looked at the wires again.

"Thanks, Mercury, it looks mighty painful, I'm real sorry I ruined it. But why did the edges burn more than the middle? Wouldn't the animal die more quickly if the middle burnt?"

Mercury's face went grim. "Oh this isn't against animals and they'll never give me enough power to kill outright, it'd be too easy... Edges shock harder to avoid escape by opening the snare back. It's more a trap to avoid been surprised when sleeping."

Against humans. Oh lord.

"I'm sorry, Rosemary, I know you must care a lot about people. Your reapings…you being here shows that."

The healer felt even sadder at her words. She forced a smile. It wasn't Mercury's fault the pretty girl had to prepare to snare humans.

"I was a healer back home. I knew them all." she said, thinking of Wheat and Carina.

"Listen," Mercury began, "how about we don't stay together much, so as not to attract attention, but in the arena, we ally? With Harrow of course and most probably Drake from Six."

Rosemary thought about it. Six, a cute boy who'd gone up to the tree station, if she remembered well. A person either way. She looked squarely at Mercury.

"You took me down in less than a second." Rosemary said in the same hushed tones.

Mercury's face went blank. "No, I just shoved you."

Liar, her legs had buckled and not from a shove. But it didn't change the fact that the girl had reacted fast to get her out of the way. Her first reflex was still helping, no matter the killer snares. Everyone had little secrets.

"Yes. You shoved me." Rosemary repeated with a knowing smile. "Allies."

"Perfect." Mercury said, looking very happy. "But be careful. Harrow is big and looks kind, people are going to want him. Make sure those who ask to join also realize they're accepting to take risks for us too."

Rosemary scowled. No one would hide behind her Harrow, ever. Mercury's meaning was crystal clear. Allies were a team, not using each other. She nodded.

"Of course."

Someone cleared their throat next to them making Mercury wince before the girl realized it wasn't a tribute.

Rosemary turned and saw Zenobia hand the other girl some kind of plastic warning sign.

"Make sure people stand clear of your snares. I've had enough emotions for the day." The woman said with a tight smile.

"Yes, Ma'am." Mercury said.

Oh Zenobia had had emotions today, had she? Did she have emotions during the Games too?

"Trainer Zenobia?" Rosemary asked, fighting to keep her voice level. "Could you help Harrow and me with bows building? My mentor said they always are faulty in the arena."

"Come with me." The woman said, heading out of the snares section.

* * *

**Gamina Woad, 16, D7**

The tree station was just next to where she was practicing throwing axes against dummies.

She grit her teeth leaves should not rustle in a windless environment. A small voice told Gamina that she should not risk harming someone. It was smothered by a stock full of pent up anger begging to be released.

The ax sailed up the tree, causing a large dent in the offending branch. The wood creaked as the crack widened under the weight, causing a huge chunk of leaves and thinner branches crash to the ground. An annoyed, and now very visible, Eleven was now toying with her ax, his skinny legs dangling from where he sat.

Creepy stalker. He looked like such a cute kid, but Gamina couldn't remember him doing anything _cute_ since the beginning. And she _hated_ people staring at her like that.

"What do you want?"

The boy's face grew hurt. "Wow, you're friendly," he said.

Gamina squared her jaw, pushing away the little voice that said to be nice to him. It was instinct, because he was so pretty and underfed. He'd been the one stalking her. He'd better have a real answer.

"Says you, spying from a tree."

"You could squash me with one blow, it's intimidating."

Gamina softened, of course, you never knew who to trust. She was bigger and older after all. Something in her brain clicked, her eyes widened in incredulous outrage.

"Bullshit! You think I'm dumb enough to forget the knives? You're just a creepy liar who wants us to fall for his little act!"

The boy's face hardened. He threw her ax as far as he could from her. It took all her willpower, and a warning look from Atala, not to climb that tree and throttle the pest.

"Go on wising us up, Seven. It's totally our fault if you got reaped!"

Gamina growled as his words reached her. She made to turn around to answer back but a voice stopped her.

"He's not worth it. He played all his cards to amaze the careers, to no avail. Don't let his bitterness taint you. Have you tried the Gauntlet? It's infuriating at first, but I believe we're both stubborn enough to let it drain us from our excess of energy." Twelve said.

Gamina cocked her head to the side. The boy looked rough, handsome enough in a roguish way, but the kind of boy who'd worked hard to scrape a living. She had to wait a few seconds for her brain to make sense of his words. People she knew just didn't speak like that.

The effort had made some of her anger go away. The gauntlet. What a weird name. She soon discovered it was a place full of moving platform in which stuff was hurled at you. As if it wasn't hard enough without the objects.

"There are two modes, simple, without the balls and rods, and extreme." The instructor told them.

"Extreme." Twelve said, he smiled at her uncertain expression. "I expect we'll fall at least a dozen times. Energy draining failure is, I believe, a better catalyst than succeeding at what we excel."

"Twelve, I'm Gamina. You got a name?" The girl asked, shaking of the urge to goggle again. He spoke too smart for his looks but didn't sound like he was trying. She found herself finding it attractive.

"Just Dash. Come, time to have a bit of fun, Gamina." He said with a charming grin.

Ah, the smile of boys who knew girls liked them, that she knew well. Her lips twitched. She squared her shoulder and began tackling the obstacle course.

Her small smile faded quickly. Soon, she began to lose count of her falls. But seeing Dash fail just as miserably and laughing at himself made it impossible to feel bad. Usually the popular boys didn't take looking ridiculous well. She was surprised to find herself liking him.

No one else was paying attention to them, they fell again and again. She cheered the first time she won, in just under seven minutes. A sad score. Dash topped it after a couple more tries. They didn't give up until they were at four minutes. Their whole bodies aching, from laughter just as much as from effort.

She'd needed that.

Zenobia went up to them when they took a pause to rest. She had a smile on her lips.

"That's the spirit, give 100% and improve more than you'd dreamed possible. Now peel half a minute more off that score."

Three minutes twenty two. She leaped on Dash and crashed with him on the floor in front of the last platform to avoid being outscored.

They grinned at each other, glistening with sweat, as the end of day bell tolled.

* * *

**Any thoughts? Questions? Things you'd like to see during training I haven't yet covered?**

**Just to clear up my thing about faulty bows, since it's like the third time I mention it. Bows are the best weapon anyone could hope for in an arena: deadly and mostly risk free for the user, unlike swords. I suppose they're don't make the Games as interesting as close combat weapons but my main justification is that in canon, the Careers weren't good shots, none of them, which would have been illogical if bows had been a common weapon.  
**

** So I figure bows were only seldom available, unless there was a catch, like the tribute having arrows but having to build the bow from scratch or something (it won't be that since I just told you^^).  
**


	18. TD2: Bonds severed and alliances secured

**Chester Fowl, "Messenger", 17, D10**

The short-haired girl from Four, Paloma, he remembered, was running just a few steps ahead of him. They'd been keeping the same rhythm for six full laps. He liked how she seemed not to play little games like many other tributes, how she trained efficiently and spoke her mind, even if it meant contradicting the other Careers. It was disheartening how unmindful of eavesdroppers the Careers seemed to be when they were all together, as if they risked nothing from having their plans overheard.

He lengthened his strides, a friendly smile making its way on his face as he reached Paloma's side. "So, what's the key to mastering rapiers?"

"Why should I tell you," the older girl asked, her face blank.

"'Cause there's no way I'm going to put anything you tell me into practice but talking while running is great exercise?" He said, his smile broadening.

Paloma's lips twitched. She began to prattle about how to keep your arms and how to move your feet as she picked up her running pace. He'd always thought sword fighting was mostly about swinging a blade, apparently that wasn't even half of it. Chester didn't let her distance him the slightest bit. She might have trained, but he was the Messenger. He'd spent twelve hours a day for years getting on and off his motorbike to deliver mail on impracticable roads, especially on rainy days, when everything was swamped.

"You're keeping up," Paloma said after a while, earnest appraisal creeping into her tone.

"Could run for a whole day without stopping if I had to," Chester boasted, "you're slow."

"Slow?" Paloma said, raising her eyebrows at the obvious challenge.

She accelerated again. Chester matched her pace and more. No matter how hard she pushed, he was half a step in front of her. They were panting hard when they'd finished. The screen had measured them running at fourteen miles per hour for the last couple of laps.

"You're coming with me," Paloma said, grasping his arm.

Chester realized with a jolt she was leading him towards the Career pack. She told him to stay back at the entry of the weapons' station. While he didn't have the group in sight, he could still hear most of their arguing over letting him in.

"Can't wield a weapon to save his life!" A girl's voice said.

"That's irrelevant. He can run for hours without getting caught. He can guard at night without dozing off. " Paloma said.

"We won't doze off," a male voice said, sounding miffed.

"No weapons, he can't betray us as easily," a deeper male voice added.

"You morons, he's in and not the black kid?" A second, richer, female voice said, her anger obvious.

"Stop it with Mesmer. He doesn't fight like you and me. He'll slit our throats as soon as we close our eyes," the first male said.

"Because we'll definitely see him coming if he jumps us! Ever heard the saying 'keep your enemies close'?"

"Why do you think I'm standing right next to you, Princess?" The first female voice said in mocking tones.

"Aurora, watching Eleven at all times would exhaust us. We need him weakened, mentally and physically."

"I agree with Corsair," Paloma said, "And he's so unusual sponsors will love him. We can't fight both him and them. Better keep him away as long as possible. So, about Ten?"

Chester decided it was his cue to make himself known.

"It's Messenger," he said, hoping he sounded polite but not weak.

To his surprise, the stout boy from One came forward to shake his hand . "And why 'Messenger'?" he asked, with unexpected friendliness.

"I deliver mail, to about five thousand people, back home."

"And you never forget to deliver or to pop by someone's house?"

"Who bloody cares," the auburn-haired girl huffed.

"No," Chester said proudly. There were a handful of mailman, but only one Messenger.

"You're in," Corsair said, his black eyes staring down into his. Chester squared his shoulders, struggling not to squirm or look down, it was obvious the intimidating teen was the leader of the group.

"Welcome to the Careers," Paloma said, putting a reassuring hand on his shoulder. Chester forced himself to smile.

It was the best thing that could have happened to him, so why was he so terrified?

"I'll behave," he promised.

The wild-looking girl from One barked a laugh, but her district partner smiled approvingly and none of the others were mocking him. He bit back an inane grin. His future had just become much brighter.

* * *

**Georgette, "Georgie", Calico, 14, D8**

She'd spent the whole first day of training on her own. She'd first woven solid snares and fought with a knife and then a sword against one of the sparring partners they could ask for. She'd been pathetic at it, but she'd quickly learned the most basic things about facing an armed opponent. Better than nothing. Maybe enough to save her life.

It had been the hardest day of her life. She hadn't talked to anyone and it had nearly killed her. She was an outgoing person, she needed to interact. But as her family's wellbeing was on the line, she was prepared to acknowledge her own shortcomings. She had a temper and was bossy to a fault. She didn't want to be disliked so she'd trained and observed people first.

There were no leader types outside the Careers. At first she'd thought the girl from Three, who'd talked to about a third of the tributes during the previous day, had been networking. Apparently not. So it left the spot open. Alliances were still very shaky, no one really dared to approach the others, to be the first to make a move. She knew from experience that people under stress wanted to be lead, they didn't want to make the decisions, especially with so much at stake. She took a deep breath. _Time to start playing the Games, Georgie._

She decided to approach Nine. He seemed nice enough and his strength would be a great help. She paused when she found him in the climbing station with his district partner. No, it wasn't a smart approach. Georgie was alone, she needed more allies before she could hope to get the two into her team and especially get them to accept her authority.

"They're a beautiful pair, don't you think?"

Georgie started. She hadn't noticed Three walking up to her. The ginger quickly scrambled for something to say.

"Hi, I see you've been talking to people."

"Observant of you," the black haired girl replied with the slightest of smiles. Her blue eyes were staring at Georgie so intently the girl was almost uncomfortable.

"I was thinking alliances," the younger tribute said bluntly.

"Why me?"

Georgie paused. She hated to have to think on her feet like that, especially in tricky situations. Three had cocked one eyebrow as she waited for an answer.

"Your electric snares seem very efficient."

Quite the understatement. Georgie had seen her nearly kill the girl from Nine with one the day before.

"Snares you can do too. It's not a skill-gap you really need to fill."

Georgie just stared. No, Three wasn't the kind of ally she didn't seem to need her. Georgie found she had little grip on the girl, a feeling she didn't like at all.

Three smiled. Her pale blue eyes sparkled. "Georgette, right? How about you have lunch with me. I'm curious about you, and I'll give you a few pieces of advice."

Georgie wanted to snap that she could do it by herself just fine. She certainly didn't want to open up to Three and even less to feel indebted to anyone.

"You look angry. You're going to need to go for protective or you'll scare them away. Everyone is on edge. They're not thinking rationally," Three added.

Georgie pursed her ruby lips. Maybe Three was actually trying to help, even if her calm tone was seriously unnerving. She had to pretend each tribute was Batiste or Lacie and be careful not to be too bossy. That meant thinking before speaking.

"Georgie. And okay." Although what and why Three wanted to know was beyond her.

A pleased smile graced the taller girl's lips. "Great. See the district Five girl there? She's still pretty distraught." Three seemed to think. "Her name is Skye but she goes by Mouse, she might just be what you're looking for."

The petite mousy girl. She'd spent a long time in the climbing station this morning. Three had said 'still distraught'. Did Georgie look like she wanted a team of wimps? She forced her rising anger to simmer down. Objectively they were all distraught. Maybe Three meant emotionally vulnerable? Had Georgie sounded like she wanted to take advantage of people? The ginger shot the older girl's back a disgruntled look. Whatever, she'd still talk to Five. Mouse. She had to remember that.

Mouse was slowly walking between the healing plants, peering at each and every one as if trying hard to memorize what they looked like. She had a weird, hunched way of moving, as if she was used to using her arms a lot to get around. Georgie figured she'd have to do a bit of that too, plants learning. But first, she had to convince the other girl that she'd make a good leader. She glanced at the descriptive of the bushes Mouse was studying. Blood thinning properties. How did you even figure out your blood needed thinning?

"It would be more efficient if you learned the remedies to pain, muscle cramps and cuts, you'll be under so much stress in the arena you'll risk mixing everything up if you try to learn all of them," she said, trying not to cross the line between helpful and bossy.

The girl seemed to shrink on herself even more.

"Hey, I just want to help," Georgie said, beginning to feel protective of the shy little thing.

"I just have no idea what to do," the brown-haired teen whispered.

"Do what you're good at, it doesn't have to be everything, as long as you're in an alliance with people that have skills that make up for your weaknesses," Georgie said.

"I can climb, you've been at the snares station. We need people who can find food and someone who knows plants and a real fighter just in case. Who else did you want to join us?"

Georgie looked at the soft spoken girl appraisingly. Yes, Mouse would listen to her. The girl still seemed to have enough of a backbone to make a good ally: she'd basically invited herself in the new alliance. The ginger smiled.

"I'll go and speak to Tesu. You learn how to fight infection. I'll keep you updated then maybe we can train together later station."

Mouse nodded, quickly lowering her eyes to the plants again.

Georgie felt much happier when she approached her district partner. The boy seemed to have gotten quite the hang of lighting a small fire.

"Looking good." She smiled, gesturing at the neat pile of burning wood.

"Hi, Georgie, how have you been?"

"Sulking," Georgie said, aiming for self-deprecation. It came out fake and bitter.

The boy stood up and put a hand on her shoulder. "You can do this," he said, serious.

Georgie winced. She'd unwittingly placed herself in a position of inferiority. She clamped her teeth down hard, maybe she was trying too hard. She looked at Tesu.

"Listen, what can you do? I'd rather have someone from home watching my back but I need people who contribute, not bait. And yes I know how bad it sounds," she said, hoping she didn't look as stressed out as she felt.

"Mostly I can run. And I don't need much food. I've spent half my life in the train tunnels, I know my way in the dark and how not to get lost. Allies?"

Georgie smiled, he seemed both eager and relieved after his little speech. The girl was certain now that while Tesu believed he'd done the right thing by volunteering, he had not given up.

"Great, welcome to my alliance. We're with Mouse, the girl from Five. She's a climber."

Georgie had decided she wanted Seven on her side the moment she saw the girl throwing axes. She had hesitated to first go see the boy from Eleven but hated to admit the all too beautiful youth scared the hell out of her. He looked so innocent and sweet, even when he did unbelievable things with throwing knives, but she had to admit that allying with someone she had no chance against gave her goosebumps.

She noticed Twelve was hovering around Seven. She frowned. Couples were harder to control since they always had someone else to support them. Then she took a deep breath. Relax, Georgie, the more, the merrier. Seven didn't seem the kind of girl who'd look twice at a wimpy guy anyway. Georgie paused when she saw the muscled girl looking very concentrated at the ropes station. No point in bothering her just yet, she headed towards the camouflage section, which was between weight-lifting and boxing, deciding she might just discover herself a new talent.

* * *

**Hawk Dorkas, 18, D6**

Hawk was punching the bags in front of her with a fierceness which surprised even her. She'd hoped hitting stuff would help her think and give her some life-saving ass-kicking ideas. It helped a big fat nothing. The skinny Eight girl had been walking over to camouflage last time she saw her, now she was heaping a fuckton of paint over herself, making a right mess. Hawk couldn't stand seeing a waste of good paint.

"It goes by layers," she said, crossing her arms at the now dripping ginger, "That's beyond sloppy, what the fuck are you trying to achieve?"

Eight went all furious on her. "Did I ask you for anything?"

"I'm helping," Hawk snapped, not feeling in a dandy mood herself.

The took calming breaths at the exact same time. It broke the ice a bit.

"Okay, okay, how thick is a layer? It's hard to measure with these brushes," Eight asked, nicer.

Was she kidding? Those were better fucking brushes than any Hawk could hope to lay her hands on in Six. They looked so soft that Hawk was half of a mind to eat them.

"If it's dripping when you lift the brush, you're doing it wrong. If it folds on your skin when you press it, you're pushing too hard. When it's blotchy, it's not spread out well."

Eight scowled at her arm, doing something utterly ineffective with her brush. Hawk chuckled and went to take a rag and some solvent to get the bloody mess off.

"Watch it," Eight growled as Hawk wiped her arm.

Hawk rolled her eyes. If the little girl found her rough, she must've squealed like a little mouse when they yanked every last freaking hair off her limbs before the chariot rides.

"Look, maybe you'll get it," Hawk said, making the smaller girl's wrist look like bark.

Eight was squirming, obviously not cool with Hawk touching her. The pierced girl wondered why she fucking bothered. The ginger, who eventually said her name was Georgie, nodded at the result, biting her lower lip.

"It does look like bark."

_No shit!_

"But you'd need to have paint with you, and to paint your whole body. How can I paint my face without a mirror?"

Hawk stared. "You need a mirror to know where your own fucking face is?"

Eight couldn't seem to hold her fucking temper. "Gosh, do you have to be so unpleasant? Go away, I'm done here, I don't need your help!"

How was she being unpleasant? That little princess had to get over herself! Hawk crossed her thick arms and gave her a sarcastic smile. "And here I was thinking we could ally," she said.

"Ally? To someone who just swears and throws punches?" Eight said, looking disgusted.

If there was one thing that made Hawk lose her cool, it was people feeling they were better than her.

Her fist collided with the other's jaw, just hard enough to make a point. Wouldn't do no good to ruin her pretty face by leaving a bruise. Hawk knew her strength, she wasn't angry enough to thrash the ginger.

"No fighting! You're banned from any training for the next two hours, Six! You can watch from the sides."

_Start by really helping us instead of bitching._ Hawk went past Zenobia without saying a word. That'd teach her to help the little bitch.

She walked around a bit, everyone was busy of course, even if the Eleven girl seemed to be more like pretending than actually looking at the plants she had her large nose in. She finally spotted a black haired boy. Three. He smiled weakly at her when she looked his way. He was plain, pale too, like he saw too little light. He was stepping across the room, fucking weird way of stepping too, large steps, as if he was in sticky mud. But it was the Hunger Games, no place to judge what people did.

As long as they were fucking polite as they did it, she amended, scowling at the thought of Eight.

"What'cha doing?" she asked.

Three shrugged. "Angle stuff, don't want a one in training."

Fair enough.

"Allies?" Hawk asked. She really didn't give a fuck who was with her, strategy wasn't her thing, she'd improvise in the arena.

Three let out a little laugh.

"With me? Why would you want that? I just told you I'm worth one or two in training."

Hawk was impressed. Boy was honest. Between Drake who'd ditched her to moon after that pretty nerd from Three, their lying mentors and those chirpy Capitol people, it was bloody refreshing.

"Company. I don't want to spend my last fucking days sucking up to some bitch just to have someone to eat with." She was sure Eight would forgive her if she came back crawling and apologized, as long as she made the ginger look good. She hated people like that.

Three's expression was hilarious.

"Something wrong," she said with a smirk.

The boy looked like he was chewing his words before he'd spit them out. Cute of him to care for her feelings.

"In my socio-economic background…" he began.

"Whoa! Hold your horses. Don't go all clever and educated on me, I won't keep up," the girl said, admitting defeat.

The boy laughed. A pearly little laugh. Almost like a girl's. Hawk's lips twitched, funny how making someone laugh could make her feel like she had some fucking use.

"Fine, allies in the Capitol then. It's Algor. I know you're Hawk. I missed the end of your reaping because I was so focused on your face rings. Doesn't that really hurt to get in?" he said, pointing at his own little nose.

Now he sounded more like a bloke. Blunt, asking stupid questions, without meaning any harm. But she liked this kid. She wanted to protect him. The more he talked, the more she could see he was real smart. Maybe even more than her Towler. But his kind of smarts were no use in the arena.

Tough, she'd keep him alive.

* * *

**Victor Gleeb, 18, D5**

Alliances were beginning to form. Victor hovered around the groups, wondering what in the others' opinion was good ally material.

The two tributes from Nine were obviously sticking together and Chester Fowl had somehow gotten into the Careers. Georgette Calico had started approaching people, with more or less success, but Skye and Tesu were definitely with her. Victor frowned in displeasure on seeing that. The boy would've made a perfect ally, he was good and would fight at first, yet he had accepted his fate by volunteering. He wouldn't have stabbed Victor in the back. It took some serious motivation to murder someone if you had any morals.

He strained his ears; Eight was still in full recruit mode and, despite having being punched by that thug Hawk, she seemed to be unstoppable. Gamina Woad and her clingy future boyfriend also seemed to have been won over. Victor frowned in displeasure. He couldn't remember Twelve's name. His restless nights were terrible for his memory. The young girl now was working her charm on the little Bryony, in the middle of the tree climbing station.

"We'll heighten our chances by sticking together, the more we are the better a chance we stand."

Victor snorted. What was the point of having half the tributes in your alliance? And hers was getting too big as it was.

"Right, so you can push her forward when the Careers find you?"

"Don't mind him, he's horrible," Eight shot at him, her face glowing as red as her hair.

_Excuse me?_ They'd never talked. Maybe Skye had been complaining.

"And who will you consider nice among your little allies once they'll start killing other people?" Victor said with a superior sneer. "Once they'll start fighting you for food or water when it'll get scarce? This is the Hunger Games! How long are you going to stay in denial?"

Eight gaped at him, as if too furious for words. Her eyes were now shimmering with tears.

"We'll look out for each other, Bryony. We don't need them, trust me."

Victor raised an eyebrow at the long-haired kid from Seven, Yolo. He'd almost jumped out of nowhere. The little girl seemed as taken aback as he was. The two had no chan...wait...smart choice. No one would hunt them at first. They would just need to survive. He gave the thirteen year-olds a small smile.

"Why did you do that?" Eight said through clenched teeth. It was plain she was struggling not to attack him. _Breathe Georgette, of course I won't be helpful. It's not personal, but what do you expect?_ He wanted to say.

"Stop pretending that you want to protect them. You want to live and go home. If you're going to become a murderer, try to at least keep the hypocrisy to a minimum," he said instead, unable to shake the feeling he was being despicable.

"That's enough. Walk with me, Victor."

Victor turned almost gratefully at the soft unyielding tones. Mercury from Three was looking at him, a small smile playing on her lips. They'd exchanged a few words early in the morning. He'd already decided she wasn't one easily deterred.

"I'll kill you," Eight screamed, her voice breaking. Stupid girl, the Games had already begun. Victor knew words remained his best weapon, he wouldn't wait for the arena to use them, he had a family to go back to.

"Denial is what's keeping them from breaking right now. Persuading themselves there is a fair, humane way out," Mercury began.

"Of course." Victor said noncommittally. What else was new? He wondered who the girl had teamed up with. He'd seen her speak with many people but never for long. He wracked his brain. Drake Stanhope from Six often ate with her.

"It's the same reason they'll be all preppy during the interviews, lie for their lives, keep to the hope they have a chance. Of course the two of us will be handing out candy for the Capitol too," she continued in conversational tones.

The boy decided he liked her analytical mind, and he'd seen her light a fire with a small electric cage-like device crafted in less than twenty minutes. He didn't doubt she could make one designed to kill. Although it all depended on the gamemaker's generosity in the Cornucopia. Still.

"Want to ally with more practical people then?"

He flashed her a smile he knew winning. She stifled a chuckle.

"Ally with you? Are you out of your mind?"

Victor's face clouded over, had she not seen how fast and good at close combat he was?

"Keep that ego down, Victor," she said, now grinning outright. "I'm not having you within a half mile of where I'll elect to sleep. You and I are alike in a way. We want to win; we have a keener appreciation of what we are getting into than those little lost souls. You are too dangerous."

The boy stared, really sizing her up this time. She was beautiful in a quiet way, and irradiated an air of confidence only Corsair Teneber surpassed. Maybe she was the know-it-all type who thought she had it all figured out and would die among the first. Maybe she really was the smartest person around.

"Damn," he said, sincere for the first time since he'd been reaped. "We might've become friends." In another life... No point in dwelling on that now.

"I promise I'll make my grand-daughters fall in love with the handsome boy from Five when I'll tell them about the Games." she said, her smile still in place but her eyes much sadder.

"I need more than a name if I'm going to return the favor," he said, shuffling his feet. He really shouldn't be doing this, they all would die anyway.

"My parents named me Mercury but I was only ever Fiddle, the one who tinkered with and fixed everything, back at the orphanage." she said with a faraway look.

"Orphanage? Who are you winning for then?" Victor blurted.

"I want to live, Victor. Do you think you want to live less than mother wants you to come back to her?" she whispered.

Why had he been so stupid to let slip he expected his mother to sponsor him earlier? Victor breathed in deeply. He didn't like at all the turn the conversation was taking. "I'm not letting you lead me into those murky grounds. I need to find allies, keep out of my sight in the arena."

Mercury flashed him a small smile. Victor frowned as she left. Were her hands trembling? Maybe she wasn't as cool and collected as she had seemed. His lips twitched as he willed himself to go cold. She was just a good actor, nothing to get worked up over.

As he took a few steps forwards, wondering where he should go next, he felt something sharp pressing against his leg. A twig. In his pocket. The boy stopped in his tracks. How could a twig have landed... His eyes darted around suspiciously until they found neon green eyes staring down at them from the first branch of the tree he had been standing under with Three.

* * *

**Legacy Harvester "Mesmer", 15, D11**

You'd think they would see him, with his skin as dark as coal and his special eyes. But Mesmer had learned to be invisible in any situation. Little objects weren't the only thing he could make disappear. He fascinated and puzzled them, that he knew. He'd been very disappointed when District Two's demand he become part of their team was denied, _very_.

He'd made a mistake. He'd given all he had on the first day, showing he was unpredictable. The Careers had seen he was too good for them to feel safe. His looks were part of his livelihood; he'd been mysterious for so long he didn't know how to interact normally with people anymore. And he doubted anyone would be fooled by the fact there was only one person he wanted to talk to.

His lips thinned, how many would judge Zephyranth among the tributes? Probably all, they knew very little about really surviving. No non-career had come to speak with him yet, they shot him nervous pitying glances, because he was so pretty, because they were fooled by his innocent face, idiots.

Watching like a hawk from his tree he smirked as he saw Five make Eight lose her temper. The boy thought he was so clever, with his whip-like words. He was just as much as a hypocrite, hiding his anger under a mask of scorn and superiority. Mesmer knew all about masks. He would've died of starvation long ago if he didn't touch people in a deep way with his tricks, people in Eleven were too poor to part with their money or food easily.

He slid down from his vantage point and slid a twig in Five's pocket as he began to follow Three. His eyes narrowed in interest as he settled above them. Mesmer's eyes narrowed at Three, he wondered if she had an informant inside the Capitol, she'd put too much thought in the Games to his liking. Too focused, too...prepared. She had to die. Mesmer didn't like having to guess, especially not when his life was at stake. He almost cheered when he heard her refuse Five's alliance.

Five found his twig after he'd realized Three had begun pulling the same trick on him as he had on Eight. Their eyes met.

"What do you want?" Five said.

Mesmer jumped down on the ground, a foot shorter than the other boy.

"I want to live, I will kill. I will not promise not to harm you. I am not foolish enough to kill you while there are still too many threats to take care of. While the others will be weeping about their fates, we will survive and strike. Partners, Victor?"

The older boy blinked, a spark of glee obvious in his dark blue eyes. He probably thought Mesmer easy to manipulate, after all, District Eleven didn't have a reputation for subtlety. He was exactly what Mesmer needed.

"Partners. I want Four with us too."

"Fine. I want Three dead. Before she remembers us."

Predictably the pampered kid flinched. Even more predictably, his face hardened in anger, probably hating that he had let himself feel even for a minute close to that girl. Mesmer wondered dispassionately when the other would see he was the one pulling the strings.

"She could take on some Careers for us."

Did Five really think to fool him with such a pathetic excuse? "I can take on the Careers, they are predictable, I am not."

"Very well," Five agreed, his face hard.

Mesmer frowned when his new ally jogged up to the panting boy running laps, hoping Five wouldn't ruin it by blurting everything out. Four was soft.

"Oy, Orvis!"

The boy stopped running and turned around. "Yes?"

"See, you're nice, that's why you've been nice to your district partner since the beginning, despite her being with the Careers who judged you unworthy of them." The handsomer youth said, without missing a beat. "So the others believe you're desperately trying to get in the Careers good graces. Mesmer and I know differently, we'd like you to join us."

Mesmer felt envy rising in him at the other's sophistication and charm. He'd never have class, there had been no one to show him, no one to imitate. Five used compliments and underhanded insults to the other tributes like a master. Soon Orvis was won over.

"So what's your plan?" Orvis said, his face open like a book.

Mesmer stiffened but soon realized he shouldn't have doubted the other boy.

"Survive, stay ourselves, make the best of everything," Five said, projecting honesty and seriousness.

"All right. Do you have a training plan or angle requirements?" Orvis said, shooting glances around the room.

Mesmer smiled. _So it begins._

* * *

**Next up: Yolo, Corsair, Dash, Harrow and Mercury.  
**

**Thanks to everyone who has read and reviewed!**


	19. TD3 Schemes in motion & Capitol sighting

**Yolo Underbush, 13, D7**

Bryony was so pretty, all curled up as she slept. But Yolo couldn't just watch her. It was kind of creepy, and he'd sneaked into her room for a reason anyway. He put his hand over her mouth before waking her. He didn't want the adults warned: better apologize later than get no for an answer.

Her eyes flew open, wide with surprise and fright.

"It's just me," he whispered with a mischievous grin, "come, there are things to see they won't show us otherwise."

"I've got to get dressed," Bryony whispered back, scrambling out of the covers, "what kind of stuff?"

"We're pretty isolated from the city, but the Avox wing is on the right side. I'm sure you can see all the interesting things from their windows. Especially since they must have access to the roof."

Bryony's hands froze and tightened on the wooden comb she was pulling through her shoulder-length hair. But soon, her scared expression was replaced by one that said that she was all for it.

"Got to enjoy our stay. Sure, turn around, I won't be long."

Yolo inwardly cheered and obliged her, dutifully keeping his eyes on the ajar door. Soon they were running as quietly as they could in the Avox's side of the tower. Yolo was confident none of the silent people would tell on them, as long as they broke nothing.

"Briar said the people that vanished worked as slaves in the Capitol. I'd never really believed it," Bryony whispered as they reached the top of the tower.

"Your older brother?"

"My boyfriend," Bryony said with a small smile.

Ah. Pity. Yolo bit back the urge to huff. O_f course_ she'd have a boyfriend. But he wasn't going to get unpleasant because of it. So he grinned instead.

"Well that's one mystery solved then."

"Yeah, good thing I was reaped."

Yolo poked the shorter girl on the nose. "Sarcasm is bad, " he said lightly.

Bryony poked him right back, but on his sides. Yolo jumped back, he was awfully ticklish.

A mischievous glint lit the girl's eyes. Yolo stuck his lower lip out, hoping to change her mind. It didn't work, the girl was evil. He bolted and ran up the stairs to the roof. Bryony was smothering laughter as she chased after him. The door leading to the loft-like topmost floor was heavy enough to make Yolo lose all the lead he'd gained on Bryony. They fell together on a pile of folded tablecloths. Yolo began gasping for air as the girl tickled him mercilessly. They belatedly realized they were not alone when a polite cough was heard near them.

"Didn't know there'd be anyone else," the curly-haired Six muttered his face red as fire bricks.

Bryony instantly leaped off Yolo, coloring so much that Yolo was worried she had no blood left in the rest of her body. He smiled at the older boy.

"Seems we're not the only ones with outstanding ideas, early in the morning."

"Uh, I was just exploring, but if you want to stay alone," the other boy said, obviously mortified.

"No! No, no, no," Bryony vehemently said "I mean, it's not like that. We just were-" She was speaking so fast that she wasn't making any sense.

Yolo fell back on the cloth pile as he howled in laughter. From the look on the others' faces, you'd think they'd been having sex or something.

"Oh be quiet," Bryony finally huffed, pressing her hands to her burning face. She turned to Six. "Bryony and that convulsing blonde creature there is Yolo. We were just exploring."

"Drake. Nice to properly meet you. Training is always super awkward." He grinned at Yolo. "Need a hand to get up?"

Yolo grasped the brown-haired boy's outstretched hand as he struggled to breathe. "M'fine, thanks" he said, between two gasps of laughter.

"You can see half the Capitol from one of the windows, come." Drake said, looking all dreamy.

They had to climb on one of the beams to see the city properly. Yolo felt like he was on the top of the highest tree he'd ever climbed. He could've stayed there for hours.

"It's so pretty. How can such bad people build such beautiful things?" Bryony said.

Drake shifted on the beam. "Don't you think the Capitol will find Aurora beautiful?"

"Who?" Yolo asked, not tearing his eyes away from the still quiet wide streets and the fanciful buildings beneath. He'd never thought a city could be so clean, even the trees looked pedigreed.

"District Two."

"Of course they will, she's gorgeous. I guess putting beauty and moral values together is just a fairy-tales thing," Bryony muttered, looking as if she was a hundred miles away.

Yolo could almost imagine they were three cousins, sneaking away to get a peek of some forbidden place. He could almost forget the Games up there. Almost.

* * *

**Corsair Teneber, 18, D2**

Corsair was bored. Eleven years he had trained. These exercises were pointless. He'd proven his superiority over the instructors, his morning star against their best weapons, always winning graciously. Honorable and lethal. They would admire and fear him, as they all should. But frankly, he just wanted to sit in a corner with Aurora and get to know her. It was rare to find tough girls who didn't deny their femininity, especially among Careers, even those who used lust as a weapon. Paloma a was a perfect example of an intelligent and strong woman who could just as well have been born a man. A soft spoken and very well-mannered man, Corsair granted.

His dark eyes swept the different sections. He'd paid attention to the other tributes' whereabouts, not wanting to be surprised later, but found them on the whole uninteresting. Raw potential was not scarce, on the contrary, but nothing raw could become polished in so little time. It was like trying to forge a blade by beating cold iron, it could only break.

"You look in a terrible mood," Aurora said, trailing two fingers up his muscled arm.

He wondered if she was truly as much as ease with him as she appeared. It was oddly pleasant. He felt like purring whenever she let her hands lightly dance on his upper body. He never initiated anything physical, and apparently, it seemed the right way to go.

"Angles ruin everything. People are fake, conversations superficial or Games oriented. It's terrible," he said gloomily.

Aurora laughed, "Are you joking? That thirteen year old from Seven, the two from Nine and Six, even Messenger, who are they lying to? They may be more subdued or tense than usual, but they couldn't fool a toddler. Or Orvis! He was so transparent."

Corsair grumbled an assent. He wanted a stimulating conversation, not a hug from Seven.

"Did Three want to join us or something," he finally asked, remembering how her and Aurora had come out last from the changing rooms.

"She spoke to Carnelia last night, just after dinner," Aurora said with a shrug.

"And I heard her laughing with Armagnac on the first day, at the snares station," Corsair finished.

"She's just curious," Aurora paused, her lips twitching thoughtfully. "And a little too good at making people spill out personal stuff."

Corsair stared at his beautiful partner with raised eyebrows. "How personal?"

"Not _that_ personal. But I was talking about Julia and Archer before I knew it."

"Who?"

"Exactly," Aurora said pointedly. She sighed, her eyes far away. "My younger brother and a friend of his. The girl who was reaped."

Corsair remembered the twelve year old. He'd thought Aurora had been nice to her on the platform because she'd been so happy to volunteer.

"I'll go bother her then. I almost feel offended at having been left out," Corsair said.

No one could make him talk, he'd like to see Three trying. Aurora smiled at his set expression.

The black-haired girl was seated cross-legged on the floor, studying holograms of successful camouflage disguises. She looked up as the Career cast a shadow over her smaller frame. Corsair blinked. He understood why people talked. Her blue eyes shouted 'I'm incredibly interested by anything you might have to say. Nothing could be more important.' Unfortunately for her, Corsair wasn't just 'people'.

"Why didn't I make the 'must talk to' list?" Corsair said lightly.

"Because my ego is so big I wanted you to seek me out," she replied in the same bantering tone.

Very well, let's stroke that ego then.

"What's this little project of yours about anyway?"

"Twenty-four tributes, twenty four people. There's no escaping that. I might as well get to know you all a little, share something, instead of just being emotionally torn apart by strangers' deaths. "

Corsair just stared. He'd never thought he'd meet anyone both generally caring and cold. People just couldn't work like that. Even those who were prepared. That's unless she was lying of course. His lips twitched as she began to tense under his scrutiny, that at least was no surprise.

_Angles..._ No way of knowing who people were.

"You know, Corsair," the black haired girl began in low tones, " knowing personal facts about people just means that you can put a name on that feeling of emptiness when they die. That you can talk about it with other people instead of burying yourself in pain. I adapt with the skills I have. I didn't have the opportunity to learn how to wall myself off like you Careers when growing up."

Corsair blinked, she was peculiar. "Why tell me that?"

"Because talking helps, " she said with a resigned smile, "but bothering my allies with it might ruin our chances."

"Logic and feelings should never mix," Corsair said, reciting a mantra from his early training days, his head was beginning to pound.

"It is illogical to presume people can suppress their feelings. Logic is supposed to help us, not cripple us by making us repressed."

Corsair crossed his arms and crouched next to her. "Careers don't do metaphysics and you're purposefully trying to give me a headache," he accused.

A broad tight-lipped smile made the girl look like a content cat. "That's the fun part about talking to people, see. Polishing rough first impressions. You and Aurora make an awesome duo by the way."

Corsair smirked. She hadn't said 'couple'. She was being careful. Too much to be genuine. Genuine would've been standing up when he'd arrived. She was as nonchalant as much as he was a pacifist. He felt an unexpected rush of satisfaction at having glimpsed the person behind the angle.

The girl sighed. "Oh dear, Corsair has now a new game," she said, her eyes back on the holograms.

"Aren't you sharp. I do," he said, leaving her alone and in a much better mood. It was called 'find the angle' and 'traumatize tributes just by being charming'. He was surprised at how well it worked.

* * *

**Tindal Soot, « Dash », 16, D12**

"I'd like to get an ax," Gamina told the arrogant young man Georgie had admitted to already despising. He had his back to her, his fingers tracing the ax handles before him.

Victor turned his towards the five of them. His lips twitched unpleasantly as his eyes fell on Georgie.

"Certain you want to tag along with _them_, Hot Stuff?"

Dash bristled at the double offense. Bullies were the lowest of human beings. That coarse rich boy had caused them enough grief already. He had the taller boy pressed against the weapons rack in an instant.

"You are a waste of our precious time. You so much glance at Gamina or our allies again and I will make sure your mother will go insane from your dying screams."

"My mother doesn't need your help to have nightmares about my fucking dying, Twelve," Victor spat, not daring to move with all the blades around him.

Dash's insides churned at the other's bitter words but his face didn't soften. He wanted Victor out of their sight. He moreover found highly distasteful to be called by his District number. It made all the tributes sound interchangeable. It was degrading.

"I suggest you keep silent," he hissed, pushing the well-toned boy to the side.

Atala was between them before the situation could escalate.

"You're really fast," Mouse whispered, her eyes wide as she watched her district partner be escorted away.

Dash blew her a kiss. Of course he was. Gamina's kiss to him wasn't blown, it was for real, long and passionate. The boy's dark eyes widened in surprise. He rested his hands on her waist, all his anger evaporating. He'd kissed a fair few girls in the last years, and that one definitely knew her business. He slowly pulled away.

"Dear Lady," he said, running a thumb over her jawline, "shall I threaten Victor again?"

She laughed, a rich, throaty sound.

"I'm letting you have him," Georgie said with a grin, "and boy, you're my hero for that, Dash."

"Your adoration is well received, Georgie, just don't distract her from kissing me," he said, his gaze captured by Gamina's glittering green eyes.

He sighed dramatically as the beautiful woodcutter's lips bloomed into a small smile. "Here I was, finally free from the tyrannical hunger that marked my waking days, only to be enslaved by a new and much sweeter addiction."

Gamina's eyes fluttered, her smile grew. "How do you come up with that stuff?" She said, stunned.

Dash blushed slightly, acutely aware of Tesu's and Georgie's giant grins. He steadfastly ignored them.

"I'm a passionate man in front of a ravishing woman," came the helpless reply.

"Just kiss him," Mouse whispered before leading the other two away.

Gamina did.

A sharp chuckle caused them to pull away again. Dash's annoyed frown vanished when he noticed who's attention they'd caught. He squeezed Gamina's hand, fear knotting up his stomach. The leonine girl from One shook her head, looking quite amused. "Neat! For some peasant, quite neat." She set down a couple of spears on the rack to their left and walked away before he could formulate an appropriate answer.

"It's amazing how patronizing they are even when trying to be nice," a bemused Gamina said, taking an ax from the rack.

"I'm just amazed she can be nice. My faith in humanity just took a leap forward."

Gamina chuckled. "Pick up one yourself," she said gesturing to the throwing axes, "you were already hitting the target more often than not yesterday."

* * *

**Harrow Carter, 18, D9**

_Don't ally with just anyone _Rose had said. _Avoid trouble_. The textile girl's group was trouble. They were loud and argued with other people, especially the rich-born fellow, who was being a right ass, but also said some very true things. Hard but true. So it was still just the four of them, which would be enough, as long as they all survived the Bloodbath.

Drake was grand. Always cheerful and helpful, with never a complaint. Besotted with Mercury too. Rose agreed with him on that. Harrow guessed Six's best people were doctors and Mercury was sure pretty and scary smart, so it was no surprise Drake liked her best. Harrow himself liked women with more fire, but Rose had told him she'd saved her from some nasty electrical shock, so he was happy to have her around. She too was cheerful in her way, so it wasn't hard to like her.

Speaking of cheerful. The blond boy Harrow had come to think of as Big Grin was still working on the fire lighting station with the tiny girl from the mines almost on his lap.

"Hey, you two still on your own? Doesn't seem right to leave you like that," he said.

"Can we join you if we've got trouble in the arena?" Big Grin asked, lifting his head. Harrow really liked people who kept friendly even when things got tough.

Harrow thought about it. "Why not. Just don't give us a scare."

"Super. Thanks," Big Grin said, showing his big teeth as usual.

Harrow grinned back. "Got to watch out for the little kids."

The girl's face seemed to have gained five shades in color, almost back to healthy. Good, she never should be so scared as to lose color, no one should. The two were busy and he had nothing important to say to them. He began to walk around. Training was poison. The whole Games were. The weapons' section was the worst of all. People only had hate or fear in their eyes as they looked at people not their allies. Careers were the only one that didn't, probably because they knew they'd not have to bother to hate to do what had to be done, because they'd learned to be evil. So it made the Careers look like the less messed up of the bunch. _Poison._

Harrow went to poke at the unusual weapons. Rose had told him to take a full quarter-hour break every two and a half hours of practice. Healer was the boss, so he just poked. He saw Purple Hair in a corner and frowned. He'd not seen her talk to anyone at all. He sort of understood. She didn't have 'bugger off' painted on her face, but it was almost as if she did. He didn't completely get it though, because you just didn't leave someone all alone for three days without checking. Manners it was called.

"Hi, I'm Harrow."

"Rachel, PMSing."

Harrow burst out laughing at the terse answer. His Step Ma had used the excuse so often when she'd been unfairly in a snit that it was now a private family joke.

"You're supposed to run away like the manly bloke you are. Not laugh," Rachel said.

Harrow took a step back, that scowl on her face was something fierce.

"You sure you're fine? Being alone? 'Cause we got space for one."

The girl stared; with those big eyes girl had when they thought you'd just said something beyond weird. He'd never figured out what was weird for girls, so he knew that look well.

"You're really friendly," she finally whispered.

Harrow just grinned. Saying yes seemed too awfully self-proud.

Rachel smiled, "I'm fine. I'm not being shy. It's my choice. Thank you, Harrow."

Harrow smiled back, hesitating to leave. He'd found out the hard way with his first girl that girls didn't always mean 'I want to be alone' when they said it.

"Harrow is it? Come."

Harrow turned at the unknown melodic voice.

He found Scary Beauty smiling at him, as if he'd done something funny. Taken by surprise, he let her drag him away before taking a step back.

"I don't want your guy to think I'm hitting on you," he finally blurted, Bear Warrior very vivid in his mind, with his cool but terrifying tattoos from the rides. And his huge weapon. And the fact he was a Career. And even taller than him. And good at throwing deadly stuff. At people's necks.

He protectively put a hand around his own neck. Where was Rose when he needed her? Bear Warrior had talked to him only one time, just a few hours before, just a couple of sentences really, about Harrow's big muscles. Harrow had wanted to run away, feeling like a kid somebody praised for being strong enough to lift a sack of grain. He wasn't so stupid as to not recognize a threat. The girl laughed, a beautiful sound that made Harrow's lips twitch despite his discomfort. Pity she had to be born in the evil districts.

"You're so nice I just had to make sure you were real," she said, looking at him as if he was confusing. And maybe stupid too.

Harrow wasn't sure if she was serious or making fun of him. Luckily Fat Rose reached his side with her hands on her hips.

"We got nothing to say to you. We're just rabbits to snare for your kind, but we won't just lay there for the picking."

"You're not rabbits," I'm-a-Niak said, stepping closer to a now pouting Scary Beauty.

Harrow itched to ask the boy to pronounce his name properly, because there was no way what he'd heard earlier could be a true name.

Rose laughed. A cold laugh. Harrow stared. He'd never seen Fat Rose cold. It was like opposites. He shivered, he didn't want Rose to become cold, it'd be like her dying.

"You train to destroy people! You learn to love to murder! What do you do to make this world a better place? What do you know of helping people and of real work? You make this, all our deaths, all our grieving families, all the people who need us and who we'll never see again, sound glorious!" She was almost shaking in disgust. "Suffering and pain, glorious!"

Harrow put his arms around her before she could speak more dangerous words, even if he agreed all the way. Some people were soundlessly cheering around them. He just wanted to see his allies and they seemed to be in some other section. He didn't want more trouble, he was in deep enough for a lifetime. He dragged Rose away, hoping the shocked-looking I'm-a-Niak wouldn't be wanting to get back at her. Lion with Whip was shaking her head and poking her district partner on the shoulder, looking like a scary non-cute version of Teff when he knew he was being annoying. Harrow was sure she was making fun of the other boy. He met Scary Beauty's amber eyes. She seemed more thinking than _I want to kill you_ like. Well at least Rose had upset only one Career. Siren Lady actually moved aside with a small smile as they left the section. She was much less scary, for a Career. But she was from Four. Everyone knew they weren't true Careers.

* * *

**Mercury Kernel, 17, D3**

She was the first out of the training center, at five pm sharp. She left twenty-three frenzied tributes behind. A collective madness seeming to have gripped all the remaining teenagers. Even the very reasonable Rosemary was attempting to cram in as much last minute knowledge as she could, Drake back by her side. Mercury hoped no one would get injured because they'd overreached themselves on the last day of training.

_No one on her team. _She amended. Other injuries would be convenient. Injuries she couldn't really bring herself to truly wish on others. None were just numbers or names. Even the few she had not talked to she had observed. They each had their nervous habits and distinctive behaviors, their dreams of home and futures, and while Mercury would kill any who stood in her way, or so she convinced herself, it terrified her.

Drake had followed her around since the train rides, sticking as close as he dared, aware she'd asked not to be trailed during training, but for some reason already too fond of her. She'd relented and spent the last afternoon training with him, building shelters and climbing trees and rocks. He was great company and Mercury didn't regret one minute of it, but she knew she was walking a fine line. While insane victors were uncommon, truly sane ones who still saw beauty in life were a rarity. She didn't want to lose that part of her. Overcoming the death of her parents had been hard enough.

She washed quickly despite the luxurious hot water, and donned the shimmering metal-like short cyborg costume she'd worn during the Chariot rides, just without the robot-like eye patch. She undid her braid, letting her hair fall in waves on her shoulders and down to her breasts. She couldn't help shaking her head in the mirror at her own reflection. She sure was sexy, but it was ridiculous.

It would be perfect.

Dante was waiting for her just outside the training rooms. She smiled at him, her clear eyes alight with unfeigned curiosity. Her escort was really a simple man, a man who lived for his job and who was frustrated he never managed to share with his tributes the love he felt for the Capitol. Mercury had sworn to herself she would at least see the 'Jewel of Panem', the infamous Capitol, before dying. A wish Dante was all too eager to fulfill. She played by the rules of the Capitol, always, and gracefully lent the long white-haired man her left hand after having removed the silver glove.

"I expect you have a monitor for me, in case I get lost?" the black-haired girl said pleasantly.

Dante nodded with a grand-fatherly smile and fastened a thin bracelet around her wrist. "It's just a precaution, there shouldn't be any trouble."

Not a questioning word, not even a narrowed glance. Dante didn't seem to have even considered the fact such a tracker could kill her the moment she caused any trouble, that she might resent it. It seemed the reality of the Districts' dreams of freedom, of Capitol oppression, escaped him completely. How someone could be so blissfully unaware was mind-boggling.

He was almost bouncing as he whispered trivia about the Capitol streets they would cross before reaching the suspended gardens. Mercury's smile was genuine. She could plainly see she was his dream tribute, interested by the beauty of the Capitol instead of moody about the Games. He radiated so much joy she couldn't find it in her to hate him. Dante had truly tried to make their journey from Three as pleasant as possible. They just didn't live in the same world. In his, the Capitol was a stern but just parent and the tributes were heroes who contributed more than any to the greatness of Panem. His golden wing-like eyelashes fluttered like a besotted boy's as he pointed reverently to each and every tower and turret. Mercury discovered he'd been an architect in his youth, and almost forgot the tragic circumstances that had brought her there as she gaped at the mind-boggling city streets. She regretted not having dared asked if Drake could come along, the boy would've loved this.

People gawked as her as she passed, they pointed and called. The children especially wanted to get closer. Dante was clad in an azure cloak-like manly dress with ruby flourishing, probably to set off his partially dyed hair. He walked importantly down the wide alleys, a small force field generated by a box-like device in his hand keeping the two safe from the crowd. That made Mercury tear her eyes away from the beautiful buildings.

"Who gave you this, Dante?" Surely it wasn't as easy to obtain as a tracker bracelet.

The escort's voice broke into an awed whisper. "President Zephyr himself if you can believe it! Livius said only he had the authority to permit our little walk. The President seemed thrilled, he gave me this to avoid having to assign peacekeepers."

The President? Mercury didn't bother masking her shock. She'd thought the Head Gamemaker would agree, because it would guarantee him another boost in popularity. She remembered how Capitol citizens had fought to be the first to greet them as they stepped off the train, four days before. Now they had an occasion to see one really close up. She felt like a freak show, to tell the truth, with all those strangers almost pressing their noses on the six yard across force field. She forced herself to appear relaxed as she waved at some of them, smiling as if they were honoring her. The worst was that most of them probably were.

But the President... That was unexpected. She wondered about his motives, fear gripping her. Aster had warned her, avoiding the spotlight would be giving up sponsors, but making herself known like this could be double edged. 'You don't want the Capitol to like you too much', he'd said. What was the President's game? She soon classified her fretting as pointless. She'd keep the perfect brainwashed tribute act up, it still was safer than any alternative.

She gasped when they reached their destination. Dante hadn't mentioned the gardens were just suspended magnetically, just like hovercrafts. She'd pictured lush terraces, not these large floating platforms connected together by glass elevators half concealed in waterfalls and rope bridges.

Why? Why did such splendor have to be built on a mountain of corpses and suffering? How could people with such keen aesthetic sensitivity have forgotten how to value life, or the meaning of freedom and justice? The tears running down her cheeks were bittersweet but Dante saw only her awe.

"I never tired of it as a child," the Capitolite said, a hand on her shoulder as his wide eyes hugged the sight before them.

"How could anyone?" Mercury whispered.

* * *

**A big thank you to ETNRL4L who, despite her un-spellable pseudo, gave excellent suggestions for the previous two chapters titles (and who can see I didn't even tweak them that much before adding them in).  
**


	20. Gamemakers' session 1 Show your strength

**Livius Ostrovski's POV  
**

* * *

Livius wiped blackberry juice off his fingers and waved for an Avox to remove the bowl of fruit. He nodded at Cassandra who efficiently directed the servants to put the room back in order.

He expected his subordinates to behave with dignity as the tributes made one by one their shows of strength, for it was the only close contact the future victor would have with gamemakers and Livius wanted to them to leave without doubting their might.

The opulent Cassandra was the oldest of gamemakers, and also the glue that kept them all civil to each other despite their often clashing personalities. She would never advance to Head Gamemaker but she sat at his right and it was at her signal that the first tribute was lead inside.

"Armagnac Dessonges, District One" the broad-chested young man said in clear tones. He nodded at them both in greeting and headed towards the swords and fighter automata.

He defeated one on the highest difficulty mode in just under four minutes, rather average for a Career, but the steady rising of his chest and the dryness of his face were promising. He then confidently headed for the hanging ropes, his sword still in his hand. His climbing speed was good but not impressive and Livius found himself impatient to see the next tribute. Midas, who had none of his restraint, yawned loudly. Armagnac shot him an annoyed look. He climbed back on his rope, this time with the sword, and cut all the nearby ropes with five clean strikes. Livius watched appraisingly as the boy efficiently wove an ensnaring net. His snare thrown over his shoulder, the sandy-haired boy activated another automaton. He dodged the first fast sword blows before throwing the net, crippling the robot's attack power. Before the machine could disentangle itself, he slammed his palms in swift motions where vital organs should have been. He finally hit the fighter robot's emergency stop button with a precise kick and straightened proudly.

A little over confident, Livius mused.

"A human would be dead," he said, his face flushed from the exercise.

"Indeed. Thank you. You are dismissed," Livius said, after checking his crystal watch.

He turned to his six colleagues once the boy was gone, leaving the Avoxes to swiftly adapt the room to the next tribute.

The tanned Cortés shrugged. "Unspecialized Career, dull. But the last combat had something."

Most were of a similar mind. A solid eight it would be.

"Good morning. I'm Carnelia Aspen from One," the lean girl said in a chirpy voice.

Livius mentally forgave her insolence when she activated two automata, a steel-whip firmly in hand.

The automata were not designed to simulate human wounds, just to detect killing blows, so where a man would've writhed in pain as the whip ripped their padding, they fought on relentlessly. Carnelia had much greater reach and was quick on her feet but the automata had no fear of closing in. Finally she made one crash to the ground by wrapping the chain around its leg and pulling with all her might, ripping the metal limb off. She smiled cruelly as she was left alone with the second, crouched like a cat before a cornered mouse.

Livius winced at the horrible shriek of metal grinding against metal as she severed the automata's arm in a half dozen slicing attacks. The air whistled as she continued her methodical dismemberment. After the second arm she targeted the head.

"Bad idea," Cassandra whispered, smothering a nascent grin.

Livius narrowed his eyes in confusion, paying close attention.

An electric arc sailed from the robot to the girl, paralyzing her as the machine collapsed. Her wild hair had ballooned with static, giving her a very interesting look. She winced, slowly flexing her muscles as Cassandra, Midas and Eloise burst into loud guffaws.

Livius found himself grinning. "It's definitely dead, tribute. You may leave."

The eighteen year old left stiffly, looking quite peeved.

"Now that was much better," Midas said, slapping his leg.

"She seems to have no remarkable skills other than the whip," Cortés mused.

"Why would she have to diversify? She's trained like every other Career in survival, and this was fun," the doll-like Eloise said, popping a strawberry between her painted lips. No one would suspect at first sight the blood thirst hiding behind those wide purple eyes.

"Just give her anything between an eight and a ten," Xerxes huffed, crossing his body built arms, "I want to see that Corsair guy in action."

She had been better than the other. Livius typed in 'nine' on the screen besides him.

He'd expected Corsair to take the morning star and smash a couple of automata before showing off with bolas. Instead the tall young man was carrying no weapons as he turned a robot on. He made the automaton chase him to the other end of the room, swiftly making a detour to grab a handful of bolas before the machine could close in. He then turned around and waited, his hands on his flexed thighs. He ducked as the automaton prepared to strike and lifted it up, throwing it with perfect accuracy at one of the archery targets.

Livius watched wide eyed the stuck robot struggled to free itself. One bola disarmed it, the other sailed across the room and wrapped itself around the furthest robot's neck. Forty yards. Not bad at all.

Corsair then grabbed a sword, cut a rope much like Armagnac had done and tied the end around the handle of the big two handed morning star. He tied the other end around a bola's chain and threw it upwards. Despite the load, the bola sailed up to the ceiling and fastened itself around one of the beams. The big weapon was now dangling nine feet up in the middle of the room, slowly slipping out of the noose Corsair had tied. He sprinted towards the automata, his long legs tensing with effort and the gamemakers focused on his every move. After activating a pair, he doubled back towards dangling morning star, the armed robots on his heels, and leaped. He caught the weapon in mid air and spun round. The automata were crushed in two hundred seconds sharp.

Livius hoped they would not run out of robots. Tributes usually didn't shatter them. He found himself staring at a solemn-looking Corsair, at a loss for words.

"Excellent," he finally said, "Thank you."

"He's a good-looking version of Rye from the 54th, remember?" Midas said, impressed.

"Any objections?" Livius asked.

"Yeah, he had seven minutes left to his clock," Eloise said with an obvious pout.

There were none. Eleven.

Aurora Feather met every one of their eyes, her chest heaving as she breathed, aware her distracting figure was as much a weapon as any blade. He might have given her a six just by walking around with a knife. Luckily for her, hard muscles lay concealed beneath her slender frame. She effortlessly lifted the half dozen targets set around the room and made a pyramid with them.

"I'm female, I don't care about your legs. Bo-ring," Cassandra whispered in a sing-song voice.

Livius' lips twitched. He certainly appreciated them.

The blond beauty collected a dozen of heavy throwing knives and a handful of the smaller ones and chose to stand twenty yards away from the targets. She was standing next to the targets, not in front of them.

A peculiar choice. Would she aim for the two inch thick side?

She began to throw. The first struck the center of one of the targets in the second row, despite the angle. Livius immediately understood why she had chosen that spot. The throw unbalanced the top two rows of the pyramid who started shaking. Aurora took two quick steps to the side, placing herself behind the targets and threw two more knives, keeping the whole from toppling over. Back and forth she kept the unstable pyramid of targets upright until she exhausted her knife supply, only missing the bull's-eye twice in the process. Livius wasn't even certain the misses had not been a necessary to keep the targets from collapsing. The pyramid was still intact. Aurora seemed to glide as she went to retrieve a throwing ax from the weapon rack. She threw it almost nonchalantly. It landed in the middle of the topmost target. The six crashed noisily to the ground.

She defeated an automaton with little trouble, the twin short swords flawless extensions of her arms, before taking a long look at the different possibilities she had. To Livius' surprise, she opened the camouflage paint box, rolled up her sleeves and pants and painted painful looking wounds over her exposed skin. She then curled up, terror filling her large amber eyes. No one would consider her a threat in that position. And he doubted any man could consider killing her.

She was on her feet in less than a blink. A knife sailing straight for the center of one of the fallen targets. A knife he'd forgotten she still had.

Livius dismissed her half-heartedly. Ten.

Algor Feyn walked in with his eyes downcast. He stayed rooted on the spot near the door, hunched with his hands grasp tight, as if he wanted to disappear.

"Need something, boy? You've got two more rooms on the sides if you can't use anything here," Midas said, impatience creeping into his tone.

Livius had seen the boy measuring the training rooms the last couple of days. He'd been obviously testing out theories about something. What that something was remained a mystery.

"May I please have a pen, a paper and ten minutes of silence?" the black haired boy said nervously after another pause.

Livius waved for an Avox. It was early enough in the day that he felt magnanimous. Looking more or less bewildered, the others began sampling the different appetizers before them while Algor went to the tree and rock climbing side room. He paused to stare at the mound of rocks set against the walls with an air of high concentration, lifted a medium-sized pebble between him and the boulders, and then sat down to scribbled things down at regular intervals. Finally, with just five minutes left to his clock, Algor went to grab a spear and a weighted shield which he struggled to carry up to the mound of rocks set against the wall.

Cortès was fingering his long dark blue beard, looking so bewildered that Livius cracked a smile. The younger man fancied himself a scholar and Livius was very amused to see him out of his depth.

The fifteen year old stuck the long spear in one of the wedges between two boulders. He grunted with exertion as he set the forty-pound shield's leather handle on the spear. He moved back. The spear groaned. The rocks moved. Half the mount shuddered and collapsed.

"Nice lever," Cassandra said in low tones. "What is it with tributes and destroying the equipment today," she joked, loud enough to make Algor blush furiously.

Livius smirked. "Very well, get out, Boy."

A half dozen Avoxes rushed in with small machines to clear the mess.

"Will we give him a pen?" Xerxes asked, an appraising cast to his bull-like face.

"He's probably just as bad as foraging as he is physically feeble." Eloise scoffed. "He'll never make get a lance or a knife to carve a lever unless he goes for the Cornucopia and if he does..." She ran a manicured finger across her throat with a small sigh.

"He has an ally. He could join a larger group," the more discreet but practical Antonio pointed out. "Considering the arena layout, if he causes a landslide, he could kill half a dozen tributes."

"I'm sure Beetee has already told him to stay well clear of the Cornucopia," Cassandra said.

Midas chuckled. "The day the tributes start listening to their mentors..."

Algor was weak, with no survival knowledge or weapons skill, but he was smart, although they'd now lose at least a quarter-hour because of the boulders to put back in place. They settled on a three despite the short Antonio's sulking.

Finally, Mercury Kernel was allowed in. She greeted them politely, her eyes confident and her movements graceful as she headed predictably towards the small pile of electric components.

Livius narrowed his eyes at her as she worked. Although the girl's ever-present interest seemed genuine and he could find no fault in her behavior, she would not be the first to pretend to adhere to Capitol ideology. She had Dante wrapped around her little finger and was the first tribute in fourteen years to travel outside the towers' limits, but Livius would not let a teenager outplay him.

She crafted a crude collar-like device in under six minutes. Livius liked electric traps. There was a cleanness and a delectable cruelty to them. The electric chair was his favorite form of capital punishment. She went to the plants section before activating her snare, recognizing 73 out of the 80 shown, and then made a final detour by their simile of the Gauntlet. The objects weren't thrown at the same interval as in the Gauntlet, to test adaptability, and the obstacle course was shorter by half. Her final score would've been mediocre for a Career, but she did complete it and without a scratch.

Finally she activated an automaton, a knife in her right hand, the collar in her left. Her mastery of the knife was childlike and proved that her mentor must've informed her that the robots disarmed first and went for 'the kill' afterwards. Her knife distracted the robot long enough for the black haired girl to slip the collar around its neck, clicking it shut and jumping backwards. The smell of burnt metal invaded the room as the automaton was short-circuited. Livius shook his head in amusement. Five automata for six tributes. Nine was the actual record, unbeaten since the 37th Games. The company supplying them in Three would be very happy after they put in their end-of year order.

"That trick with the knife works only on the automata, and that collar would not have killed a human being. It only worked because your target was electronic," Cortés pointed out, his hands pressed together before him.

"For a human tribute I can make an alternative circuit that delivers voltage to the heart and cause short lived but crippling pain but it would have had no visible effect on the dummies," Mercury replied calmly.

A sensible answer, but people didn't just talk back to Cortès.

"We want results not promises," the bearded man said with surprising hostility.

The girl blinked. "Do you have a human you want me to demonstrate on, Sir?" She said after a pause, no trace of sarcasm in her voice.

Cassandra barked a laugh. "You'll have all the time for that later. Now shoo, we've got a schedule."

The girl saluted with a pretty smile and left.

"What was all that yakking about, Cortés?" Midas said, "We want a bloody show. I'd rather have her blow up a robot than kick it in the nuts for realism's sake."

"I agree with Dad," Eloise said, "just give her enough to fry someone, it's always good fun."

"She's playing us for fools," Cortés grumbled.

"Ta, let her. She has no power," Cassandra said dismissively, "we'll deal with the victor's flaws when the time comes."

Indeed: shut up, Cortés. Six.

Orvis Anchor was nothing special. He was muscled but lanky and looked too nice to be taken seriously. For a Career-district tribute, disappointing.

It was the umpteenth trident and net fight Livius saw, and not the best, not by far, even if Orvis eventually won. At least the red-head had woven the net himself, producing a very decent one. The shelter the fifteen year old had then built was solid and his running skills adequate, just like his aim with the harpoon and throwing strength. A pity he hadn't properly trained. He could've grown very skilled.

"His sister was way better," Xerxes said loudly to Antonio, biting into a cheese roll.

A harpoon struck the wall just under Xerxes' feet. Livius' head snapped back to Orvis. The boy's face was twisted by fury. He stormed out of the room, fists tightly clenched, without saying a word.

Xerxes tutted, wiping his fingers. "Temper! They get worse with each passing generation."

"He's okay, has some guts too, I'd say a seven," Cassandra suggested.

Livius agreed. His lips twitched when Xerxes moved his chair back. All inflated muscles and no guts.

Paloma Farsee was much more entertaining. Everything the short-haired young woman did had a business-like flawlessness to it. She recognized every single plant, ran half a mile in laps in less than two minutes and danced around the obstacles of the little Gauntlet, finishing the course in sixty seconds sharp. She finally strode up to the rapiers and defeated an automaton on the highest difficulty in less than twelve strikes. She realized she had a few minutes left and activated another robot which she defeated just as easily. Twelve strikes. The third she defeated in eleven.

Livius' only reproach was that she took no risks. Never once she tried to attack two of the robots, and he was confident she would've come out victorious.

She threw a couple of spears, just to prove she could do it. Bull's eyes at twenty yards, classic. She finally climbed on the top of one of the trees, at a reasonable speed, always keeping perfect balance. She bowed her head, exertion hardly affecting her composure, and left with dignity when Cassandra dismissed her.

"She's…professional," Cortés approved.

"Not so fun though," Eloise said, looking mildly impressed but not enthused at all.

A nine it would be.

The next tribute wore a very self-assured expression.

Ah, the handsome Victor Gleeb. He'd been amusing to observe, vicious in his dealings with many of his peers. A pity his parents were such a pain with their demands. The President had waved Livius away when he'd asked to have their dealings with the Capitol restricted, saying that, on the contrary, the Games would have a greater impact if they believed they'd done their best. Livius was half a mind to tell the infuriating Moxie Gleed that he'd send a dozen mutts after her son on the first day if she insisted again about sponsoring him. He smiled back at Victor's greeting. Maybe he'd allow the woman to sponsor the tribute _and_ _then_ send the mutts.

The brown haired youth activated the only knife throwing automaton. It was seldom used. The tributes who did always tried to match the robot's increasing throwing speed and show that their accuracy didn't suffer from it. Before programming the difficulty level, he replaced the automaton's supply of knives with the stack of bandage rolls for wound binding.

The gamemakers exchanged glances. Midas leaned forward in interest.

When Victor stood ten yards away, between the robot and a target, the machine began to throw the bandages towards random parts of the target. With his hands and feet, he intercepted them all, making a great show of flexibility and speed. He then climbed a tree, rather clumsily as he had taken a spear with him. The weapon buried itself into a nearby trunk, vibrating from the strength of the throw.

Victor jumped. He grabbed the spear with both hands and used his momentum to land on one of the bigger branches of the second tree. He miscalculated. His foot slid on the branch he'd aimed for. He caught it one armed, his feet dangling nine feet off the ground. He let go of the branch, catching himself on the hard floor with ease. He ran, not as fast as Paloma had but fast enough and long enough to keep them from laughing at him. He finished by lighting a dry wood fire that made hardly any smoke, turning towards them with an expectant look.

_Yes, yes, we noticed you're not pathetic at survival, Victor,_ Livius wanted to say. He was glad the boy respected them enough not to try to use his silver tongue on them. He dismissed him with a small superior smirk.

"An interesting way to show off hand-to-hand combat skills," Cortès began.

"He's quite full of himself," Eloise said, pointing at the lance on the tree.

"I thought you wanted fun, Daughter. Fun's risky," Midas said with a knowing smile.

Eloise, who'd have bitten anyone else's head off for such a patronizing answer, graciously granted her father's point.

They decided he deserved seven and a half. Livius gave him an eight, wanting the Careers to target him.

Skye Blip hadn't spoken loud enough for them to catch her name. Livius frowned at the lack of manners. Her hands were trembling as she made a crude shelter. Never once did she meet their eyes.

Livius broke off in mid-yawn when she started climbing. That girl was a squirrel. He hadn't seen her grab the rope that she was already on top. The chatter died around him. She squirmed under their attention and headed hunched towards the little Gauntlet. They'd seen the footage, so it came as no surprise when she finished with a good time.

She then entered the climbing side-room and turned the light off. Cassandra signaled an Avox to turn on the screens behind them and the infra red cameras. She quickly climbed one of the trees and seemed to consider leaping the eight feet gap separating her from the nearest tree. She finally decided against it. She scurried to the top of the rock pile too, without making a noise, at ease as if it was daylight.

She almost bolted out of the room when she was dismissed.

"Skittish," Xerxes whistled.

Midas looked unimpressed. "She'll run the whole time. She's done nothing to show she might be a fighter."

"But she's a good runner," Cassandra pointed out.

Five, because night crawlers kept the audience watching at late hours.

Cassandra was staring at Drake Stanhope as if she wanted to pinch his rosy cheeks. Livius had no doubt he had a number of fans among the motherly women of the Capitol. He was a pretty but sneaky thing. He'd have to remember to advise his successor to keep an Avox on guard duty during the Games period to avoid having tributes nosing about in out-of-bounds areas again.

The boy was a climber too, silent and steady on the trees and rocks but not as fast as the other girl. While Orvis' shelter had been almost inviting, Drake's was crude but sturdy and well camouflaged. Then the boy went for a sword. Soft laughter spread among the gamemakers. For the moment Drake had done nothing he hadn't already tried during training, and his sword fighting against the instructors had been comical.

Livius almost fell off his seat when Drake bellowed like a maniac before running towards the robot, his sword held before him like a spear. The robots were so good because they scanned their opponent's weapons and adapted their fighting style. Swordsmen, even poor ones, didn't behave like Drake. The confused automaton fell to the ground under the boy's weight. One foot on the robot's arm, Drake proceeded to stab its face with surprising viciousness. Rivulets of sweat were running down his temples as he brushed his curly hair out of his face to smile shyly at the gamemakers.

"Who told you going berserker would work?" Cassandra asked with a helpless grin.

"It works against people. I figured your dummies worked like people," he said candidly.

Livius cocked a bushy eyebrow. The boy had tried it growing up?

"You're dismissed, Six," He said.

"That's a five too, especially since we know he gave everything he had, but I liked it better than the last," Midas said, eying his watch. They'd been at it for over three hours and the morning wasn't even over. He was glad Hawk Dorkas would be the last before their well deserved and all too short break.

"He's relying on luck, but we can't deny luck's a factor," Antonio pointed out.

Five it was.

Hawk Dorkas entered the room with a belligerent cast to her features, not that she ever looked sweet. Her greeting was very perfunctory and she walked heavily up to the weapon's rack. She put on the pair of weighted gloves. She walked towards the robots before stopping in her tracks and shooting Livius a disgruntled look.

"How am I supposed to beat up metal, even stuffing coated, Sir?" She said.

Livius just stared at her with pursed lips. The others had all managed, surely she could too.

She huffed, took her gloves off and went to paint herself into a mound of grassy earth. Livius had to admit the result was the best he'd seen in the last few years. She then went back towards the robots, still painted. She carried the one Drake had defeated next to a target and turned it on. She lifted the target over her head and smashed it against the robot, making it let go of the sword. The unarmed automaton seemed to shrug the blow off and attacked with its padded fists. Hawk grunted as she fought, taking in more than a few punches. None seemed serious, but the combat was dragging on. One had to hit very hard for the blow to be registered as deadly. Obviously fed up, she finally grabbed the automaton and threw it a few yards away. She turned it off before it could rise again.

"Go get cleaned up, girl," Cassandra said, as the painted girl still stared angrily at the robot. She left the room without even acknowledging of their presence.

"You're right Xerxes, no manners at all," Livius said with a small sigh.

"She's a fighter," the over-muscled man said with a small grin.

"An ill-tempered one. At least she kept her mouth in check with us," Cassandra said with a expression of distaste.

Finally, they gave her a six, because tributes very rarely tackled automata they weren't sure to defeat.

Eloise stretched like a cat, making sure her curly pink wig was well set. "Let's hope we get some interesting ones in the next batch. At least Gamina and Mesmer seem disposed to kill, but if I have to weight an hour and a half for Eleven, I'll be taking a nap."

"Who wants to start betting?" Cortès said with a little smile.

Livius was forbidden to take part in those inside bets, since he could overrule any of the others' decisions and decided what went on in the arena, but the fighting the bets generated among the six was highly entertaining. Their attempts at cozening him into supporting their champion were even more so.

* * *

**To clarify the schedule : every tribute had 15 minutes to show off, the first test is around 8.30am and the twenty fourth was a little after 5pm (delays to clean the room up, lunch break and all). The results were displayed at 6pm and the interviews begin on the same night at 10pm.**

**It might not be exactly canon, but it makes sense. xD  
**


	21. Gamemakers' session 2 But can they kill?

**Remember the young gamemaker whom Livius finds bloodthirsty, Eloise? This chapter will be through her eyes.  
**

**Enjoy.**

* * *

Eloise Argenteel let herself fall on the roman settee. Livius was so uptight about this! He had no obligation to listen to their opinions on the tributes anyway, so why did he insist they constantly pay attention? If a tribute's performance was lacking, they didn't deserve her respect. Courtesy worked both ways after all. She filled her crystal wine cup to the brim.

The boy from Seven walked in, happy as a charm, his long hair falling messily around his head. Eloise wanted to see him show those big teeth while standing over a dead body, otherwise she did not much care for his happy-go-lucky attitude.

He went for the ropes. Twenty of them were hanging from the ceiling. Eloise watched with a pout as he jumped from rope to rope, steady as if he was taking a stroll. When would they understand she didn't give a flick whether they could run fast unless it was to better kill their opponents afterwards? Every year some hoped to hole up until the last two, truly pathetic. Her eyes flickered with interest when Yolo put a knife between his teeth and repeated his acrobatics in the trees before slamming the knife in the wood as if it was butter. She imagined him gutting an unawares sleeping tribute who'd thought high branches could grant him safety and smiled.

_But do you have the will, little tribute_? He looked more mature than his thirteen years and had a wiry toughness that would help him weather cold and hunger. She wondered if he'd bleed to death with a smile. With six minutes left to his clock, Yolo wove a rough rope out of some of the plants for shelter building. She raised her eyebrows at her father.

"He won't be going for the Cornucopia, I think," Midas said.

_Ooh, interesting then._ It seemed he was right too because Yolo flashed him an uncertain smile at his words. The tribute climbed as high as he could, his makeshift rope in tow. He fastened it to the tree and jumped. Eloise drew an excited breath. An error of three feet or a less sturdy rope and avoxes would've had to clean splattered brain off the floor. The rope tore and broke while Yolo was still half tied. He landed on his feet and bid them goodbye with a small smile.

_So much potential for hit and run!_ The purple-eyed woman bit her diamond-studded lower-lip. Would he kill? Flying above tributes as he did, he'd just need a rock.

Six, in the hope he would.

Gamina was everything she had hoped and more. She was aggressive and meticulous. Her axes were aimed perfectly and she made Eloise almost squeal in delight when she chopped one of the plain stuffed dummies' head in four throws when she could have just as easily done it in one.

The tribute's green eyes seemed to be consumed by fury as she spent herself on an automaton set on average. Eloise watched avidly while Livius and his pet Cassandra shied away from the screech of steel scraping steel. Gamina would burn like a torch, mindless that she would only be ashes in the end. The passionate ones had always been Eloise's favorite among the untrained.

Cortès started bitching again about how the tribute only had one skill after she was gone. He was the one who spotted all the glitches in the arenas, so they had to keep him, but he also deserved a gag for the constant annoyance he was. He wanted to give her a five, no matter what the others said.

Livius didn't intervene yet. He seemed to love seeing them all at each other's throats.

"Stop trying to convince us weapons don't matter just because you don't have a gram of muscle yourself," Eloise snapped at Cortés.

"Let's not make this personal," Cassandra cut in, her tone heavy with warning.

_Spoilsport._ But then someone had to be, or they'd all have scars from their meetings.

Gamina got a seven. Bloody well earned it too.

Eloise yawned at Tesu, loudly, making sure she was staring at him. Running around was warm-up not a show of skill.

It ticked the Asian off. He went to the fire making section.

_Because being technologically on par with a Neanderthal was soooo much more exciting_, Eloise thought with a huff. Would he show them he knows how to zip up a sleeping bag next? She didn't care if it was a useful skill. The test was designed to see if they could survive long enough to kill. Meaningless without the _killing_ part.

Tesu did not light a fire, well he had, but he'd soon started poking at the different substances they had there, from plant fuel to chemical components. They were seldom used since most tributes made wood fires. Mistake which had made the 56th Games hysterical to watch. They'd been given only alcohol for fuel in the moon-lit glacier arena and, except for a few, they hadn't realized it had been for torches. Drunk tributes had been a blast, she recalled, taking a sip of wine.

Tesu was making low explosives. She caught Antonio grinning at Livius. The Head Gamemaker cleared his throat. Only Xerxes and Cassandra still hadn't caught on.

"Just give us a theoretical explanation, we'll consider it worked," Livius said, apparently queasy about having the building damaged.

The boy knew his chemistry, or at least that part. She wondered if chemical convoys traveled through Eight. It couldn't possibly be required schooling for people who spent their days making dresses.

"That'll actually be useful if he's crafty enough. We won't even have to send him anything," Xerxes said, stating the obvious. They knew the arena layout so well Eloise saw it in her sleep.

"He'll need to get there," Midas said, unconvinced.

"Again, he has allies who make up for his lack of weapons skills," Antonio pointed out.

Eloise rolled her eyes. Allies were not a point factor.

A four for the Asian it was.

Ah, Georgette. Beg your pardon, _Georgie_. Itty bitty Georgie who wanted her team to be a rampart against evil. The ginger had started off boring but her little speech to obtain Gamina and her beau's allegiance had had a delightful righteous ring to it. It was so fun to see righteous tributes fall apart when their little world crumbled around them. The districts deserved no fairness. Those ungrateful barbarians had killed more children during their idiotic rebellion than the Hunger Games had. Sweet, innocent, _Capitol_ children.

Georgie sliced half a rope into thinner strands and wove a snare. A little snare with spikes that bit into the calf and didn't let go. Spikes the pretty-face promised to coat with poison, naming a handful of plants. She bust a stuffed dummy in nine vital places with a little knife, which might have torn a smile from Eloise if the tribute had looked fiercer or more convincing about it.

There were always those with people skills, who sometimes lasted very long, but who were wholly uninteresting on their own. Georgie was a smart girl, so she made another snare, with plants this time, after having carved her own needle. It was a noose that snaked the ankle and pulled the victim up. A rather common device, but the sharp wooden spikes were a nice touch.

"They're all pretty much skilled in only one thing in the lower districts," Antonio began before Cortés could open his mouth, "I like how little material she uses each time. She doesn't need four ropes to do a proper snare."

Xerxes, Eloise and Midas yawned, although the latter nodded in agreement.

A low five that got downgraded to a four because Livius had found her open designation of the Capitol as the true enemy during training unpleasant. What a soft idiot, _of course_ the Capitol was her enemy.

Eloise still held onto a flicker of hope for the massive Harrow. A shameless carebear that tribute, but he'd not be the first nice guy warped into a destructive beast.

He hesitated on the difficulty for the automaton, a cudgel in hand, finally switching on average. Eloise was going to throttle Rosemary, without her nagging, Harrow would've been much more entertaining. _But nooo_, he had to listen to her wise counsel...

Harrow forgot that making the robot let go of its sword didn't mean it couldn't slam him with its shield. Of course, the big tribute just winced and smashed on. He shot some arrows, well enough she didn't laugh, and some rocks.

Pretty big rocks, maybe he'll even think throw them at someone. Rocks the tributes would have a handsome supply of.

He then scratched his head, as if he'd exhausted his checklist of things to do. He climbed a tree and then scratched his head again.

Eloise felt the urge to face palm. Her father's chuckles just made her shake her head in consternation. Thinking hard to climb one tree, _honestly_.

The second idea was much better. Harrow busted another robot, his strikes more convincing this time. There was a primitive satisfaction about seeing the big tribute slapping the technological jewel around with what amounted to an evolved club.

Xerxes smiled in appreciation, "Finally some action!"

Midas clapped his hands together, trying hard to hide his impatience behind another swig of wine. Eloise squeezed his shoulder with a compassionate smile. Livius was cruel to make the hyperactive man sit still for hours. It ruined most of the pleasure for her poor father.

"Seven," Midas said threatening anyone who wanted to chat on for chatting's sake into silence.

"Seven, Midas," Livius granted, amusement sparkling in his eyes.

_Liked seeing her dad suffer did he?_

Rosemary was boring. Her shooting was as good as her district partner's but she'd soon switched to dutiful schoolgirl mode: a 100% in plants in half the regular time and now a speech of how bandaging worked on a dummy. Eloise began to drum her fingers on the table. She'd throw a fit if the men pulled another Aurora and gave her extra points because of her breasts. They were gamekeepers not sponsors, there was some dignity to be had.

But then Rosemary's speech changed. "That's why you have to knot the bandage like this. If you press on this part of the back too hard, you can paralyze your patient. It's the same if the leaves are eaten before having been boiled: it causes burns all the way down, so it's the intestines and not what's inside that come out when you go squatting to relieve a heavy stomach. But I doubt you could squat from the pain," she continued, her dark blue eyes flashing, on the misuse of plants on a light tone down to the grizzliest details.

Cortés' and Antonio's paleness contrasted with Cassandra's and Xerxes' keen interest. Her father elbowed her, his eyes crinkling.

"Don't drool darling, it's unbecoming."

Eloise pinched his arm, listening raptly to the end of Rosemary's demonstration. Such a pity the tribute couldn't have made a slide show. This sorely lacked pictures. A copy of today's records would have to find their way into Eloise's private computer.

"How very instructive!" she said with a grin when the shapely girl was out. Midas and Xerxes laughed at her delighted tone.

"Indeed," Cassandra approved "Maybe we're giving her too many weapons in the arena all things considered."

Eloise rolled her eyes. That'd be like removing rocks because people could throw them.

"If she decides to poison people. It's a big if," Cortés said, unfortunately right.

"Another Seven, no Midas?" Livius asked in teasing tones.

"Absolutely, Head Gamemaker," her father said with a head bow.

Chester ran. He ran well and a long time. He showed how bandages worked for fracture wounds, looking like a fumbling kid after Rosemary, and did everything that was required of the gap-filler of the Careers. He even put an opaque bandage over his eyes and recited everything that was in the room, from the weapons to their food plates. Eloise almost envied his memory, having emptied a second cup from sheer boredom at his display.

"Let's give him a three and see how the other Careers react," Midas suggested with an evil grin.

"He deserves more," Cortés objected.

_Genius._

"He didn't touch a weapon. No more than five," Cassandra declared.

Livius silently stared at his touch screen before entering a four.

"You're being a little harsh this year," Xerxes cautiously said, "he's better than Tesu."

Livius' jaw tightened. "He's playing parasite. He won't do anything as long as Paloma is around to order him. They all know they're supposed to use weapons today. He didn't even try snares and I'm confident our mail-man has had to fasten big packs on his motorbike more than once."

Ah, the manners issue again. Eloise didn't understand why Livius expected tributes to follow the rules they could break. District dwellers had no sense of rules. The amount of peacekeepers they required to be kept in check was blinding proof.

Rachel was more fun. She climbed the thinnest tree and tied knots of rope around some of the smaller branches, making them bend and move under the weight. She then jumped down, went to fetch a foot-long blowgun and then back to shake the tree, making the knots jump up and down. She missed only one out of ten and the darts stayed deeply stuck in seven of the moving targets. A pity those weapons were so useless on their own unless the wielder was a prodigy. Rachel was just good.

She then went to plants, recognizing nine out of ten and stopping to list those that had properties she could use to coat the darts with. From Cassandra's smirk, the tribute wasn't always correct but the effort was appreciated.

Rachel quickly defeated an automaton on easy mode with a knife, earning a shallow gash on her forearm. Still, Eloise liked the determined cast to her face and the daring way in which she fought. She decided to lobby for a blowgun and darts in the Cornucopia and see if Rachel would be savvy enough to obtain her own poison.

"Her real talent is riding," Xerxes pointed out.

"You'd love a good knight joust," Midas joked.

"Next Games?" the body-built gamemaker suggested with a hopeful grin.

"It was already done in the fifth Games and there is no guarantee the President will appoint one of us six to succeed Livius," Cassandra reminded them.

Xerxes harrumphed.

"Six?" Cortés said.

Livius put on his 'Motion approved' face. She wondered why he didn't lord over them more than he did, for the first time feeling a flicker of apprehension at his departure. He'd been easy to work with, all things considered.

Mesmer, _finally_. Eloise sat straighter on her chair. He picked up a half dozen bandage rolls before going over to the fire building niche, grabbing the rack of throwing knives, the full rack, on his way.

Eloise smiled as he wrapped his hands up in the white fabric and then soaked the remaining bandages with alcohol. The smile became a grin when he lit a small fire and used a twig like a match to light the white fabric. Ten ignited balls flew in the air as his hands danced to keep them afloat. The rhythm became irregular, leaving Mesmer's right hand free to dart towards the knife rack. Soon there was one knife for each of the blazing bandages whirling around Mesmer. The striking bald boy seemed imprisoned in a cage of blades and fire. As the flames grew thinner, Mesmer's hand-play changed. Eloise squinted to make sense of what he was doing, now a little annoyed at herself for having made herself tipsy.

Eight knives pierced the target at the other side of the room. Not even a flicker. He'd killed the flames. Cortès wasn't the only who was disappointed that it was over.

"Bis," Antonio said with a grin.

"Again," Cortès clarified as the bald tribute didn't catch the meaning.

The magician bowed with a smile. This time Mesmer used the bandages as ribbons, tying them roughly to snapped branches and lighting them once more. It wasn't as impressive as acrobatic ballets but Eloise could feel the heat on her face, the pull of those hypnotizing eyes and smell the sweat on Mesmer's body. It was intoxicating.

He finished with a pirouette, somersaulting every time he threw a knife and never missing the target.

"This arena is lacking fire," Midas said, voicing his daughter's exact thoughts.

"I'll think about it," Livius allowed.

"Give him an eleven," Xerxes said, eyes glinting.

"Don't," Cassandra exclaimed, a protective look flashing on her face.

"He'll be no fun if he dies too soon!" Eloise echoed.

Livius raised his hands up in surrender. "The ladies have spoken. Ten."

"Besides, he's only got one talent, juggling," Cortès commented, fingering his beard.

They all turned to him. Eloise almost gaped. So the man did have a sense of humor.

That sense of humor was soon lost with Apple's silent rudeness. She took nine minutes to score less than 60% on plants, her face blank. It was as much a 'fuck you' as anything Eloise had seen to date.

"There's one like that every couple of years. Eleven, get out," Midas said briskly.

The tribute didn't even have the grace to look ashamed.

"Zero," Cassandra cracked.

"As in Capitol?" Xerxes said with a small grin. "I've always found funny that twelve was the highest mark."

Eloise snorted.

"You'll need to take a nap before the interviews, my friend," Midas said seriously.

Livius lazily gave Eleven a one. "We'll warn Caesar about her, next!"

Another runner. A very fast one who tired more quickly. Eloise wondered if the district boys had spread the word or if she just held too high expectations.

Dash tried axes. He decapitated a dummy in one blow and moved to throwing. Four misses at 15 yards out of ten axes, and only one hit was close to the center of the target, leaving Eloise to fantasize about all the maimed tributes Dash would leave in his path. Clean kills were safe for the killer and merciful for the killed but such a waste of entertainment value...

"One of the other runners blew up something," Cassandra said as Dash took his breath.

Eloise's eyes flickered to her. Her fat colleague must've taken a closer look at Dash's background than she had.

Dash furrowed his eyebrows and began to look around. His eyes widened drastically as he spotted the small shelf of combustibles behind the pile of firewood.

_Spot on old lady_. But then Cassandra wasn't one to speak for no reason.

"With all due respect, why is there glycerin on the shelves," the tribute asked after a pause.

"For the heck of it. We don't remove trees if the tributes are to go in a desert. We want to see what you can do, not what you'll do for sure," Xerxes said, almost as impatient to leave as Midas was now.

"I can't make an explosive in less than ten minutes with those supplies."

"Then submit us a strategy for the Games," Cassandra said with a motherly smile.

Eloise sighed. Talk was _such_ a drag. Apparently what Dash said about dynamite was correct. She wouldn't have been able to tell. At least it spared them the debating and secured him a five.

Ah, the little girl of the show. Those always got sponsors just by existing. Bryony wasn't about to stop at that though. The girl lit a fire without flint before building a crude shelter without using rope.

Of course, allied with Yolo, no cornucopia either.

Bryony then set a handful of rocks around a tree, between one and ten yards of the trunk, and climbed the tree with as many rocks against her chest, her face red from concentration. She was within a foot for four of the five target stones, well concealed up her tree. Eloise figured she had to be decent slingshot, because while she had good aim, she lacked strength. Unless she hit the head, she wouldn't stun her opponent. She hoped the tribute had the skill to build her own sling in the arena.

Still, a five and a four weren't such bad scores for the joke district.

Livius smiled. "Gamemakers dismissed."

Midas groaned in satisfaction and ran out of the room. Eloise chuckled before walking up to Antonio; taking graceful small steps to conceal her tipsiness.

"Three to one odds Gamina kills a Career," she offered.

"A Career not Chester, done."

* * *

**Scores recap:**

**D1: Armagnac 8, Carnelia 9  
D2: Corsair 11, Aurora 10  
D3: Algor 3, Mercury 6  
D4: Orvis 7, Paloma 9  
D5: Victor 8, Skye (Mouse) 5  
D6: Drake 5, Hawk 6  
D7: Yolo 6, Gamina 7  
D8: Tesu 4, Georgie 4  
D9: Harrow 7, Rosemary 7  
D10: Chester (Messenger) 4, Rachel 6  
D11: Mesmer 10, Apple 1  
D12: Dash 5, Bryony 4  
**


	22. Interviews: Snaring Sponsors

**For me Caesar is a very ambiguous character (and one I love). I've pictured him here as a quintessential Capitolite, who considers like the rest that District citizen are lesser human beings, but who is extremely good at his job: giving a good show.**

* * *

**Caesar Flickerman's POV**

It was the single greatest event before the Games themselves. The culmination of all the feverish speculation that had seized the city since the reapings. The show that had propelled him among the Capitol's finest. There was a reason why the Games' audience had never dwindled, and that was because of the bonds Caesar crafted between the tributes and the Capitol during the mere three minutes they spent in his hands.

He was the only person, outside the gamemakers of course, who had access to the entirety of the tributes' camera footage. In addition to the two-hour long videos broad-casted at the end of each day of training, he saw what they chose to eat at breakfast and the nightmares that kept them awake at night. He heard every whisper and saw every tear. He doubted even Livius watched the records with as much care as he did.

He would carve a place for every tribute in the citizens' hearts, but only so big as to make them hail their every effort and moan at their every wound. It wouldn't do to make the impressionable little children in the audience care too much. His questions, not their answers, would determine whether the tributes would have sponsors. The answers were always so predictable. Caesar had the power to make them shine, just as he could make them forgettable. A power he lived for.

He remembered every face and every name. Every act of valor, every death. The Careers, prepared and aware of his little game, and the wide eyed tributes from the outlying districts who hardly could believe they'd finally found an ally in the Capitol. How surprised they would be if they only knew how much he supported the Hunger Games! He felt for the tributes as any in the city did, he just knew them better, well enough to make sure Panem would see them in all their splendor. And they were beautiful indeed.

Children were by nature ill inclined to work. The children of the Capitol were the prime example. Of course, they were the elite, so they were entitled to watch their little ones grow up at their own pace. In the districts, productivity depended on hard work, and the Games were just as high an incentive as poverty not to be idle. What would their peacekeeping forces be, without the dozens of trained and disciplined Careers joining every year? What mischief would teenagers be up to if they didn't have the fear of the Games looming over them and their beloved siblings? He shivered at the thought of unwashed hordes of boisterous youths in the gloomy district cities.

Most of all, the tributes were an example to follow for every generation, examples of bravery and resourcefulness. They were the Capitol's gift to them. After all, the tributes were privileged: so many children died anonymously from accidents every year. The reaped teenagers would've led unremarkable lives. Instead, their names would be inscribed in the records of those who kept Panem the glorious nation it was.

He applied a last dose of paint on his emerald lips. His sleek hair was of a darker green than the shade in fashion, not that anyone would berate him for it. He doubted there was a household in the city that didn't own at least a mug sporting his beaming face. He smiled to the mirror, revealing perfect teeth. This was the night of nights.

Caesar silenced the crowd with two raised arms and a dazzling smile. Armagnac would be joining him in mere minutes, and he'd have them all bursting to see the dear boy. He played the audience's emotions like a musician drew sound from strings. Anticipation clogged the air, creating a crushing tension that caused men to fidget and ladies to feel faint.

He rose abruptly. "Ladies and gentlemen, welcome to the sixty-third Interview Night! We have all caught glimpses of our wonderful new tributes, but now, we ache to see who they truly are," he said in vibrant tones, his trademark wide genial smile in place.

Shouts of assent and thunderous clapping erupted from the crowd.

Caesar's glittering blue suit flashed on every screen. The man was in his element. He sat cross-legged on his seat and put a finger to his lips. He smiled as the cheers died.

"May I present you the brave and bold Armagnac Dessonges from District One!"

The purple velvet outfit was totally last season but the host granted that it fit the boy's stout frame well. He projected solidity and honesty, an angle Caesar was quite disposed to work with.

"So, young man, you've made us visit the whole training center in the last few days. I was waiting for the station you'd fail at and I still am."

Armagnac smiled at his friendly tone. "Yeah, I wish I had the time to do them all during the test."

"Well, you might not be as showy as some of your friends, but you're certainly good at everything."

The boy beamed, his confidence seemingly renewed. He was very transparent for a trained Career.

Caesar leaned forward. "So, there is a gorgeous girl who followed you into the justice building. Half the Capitol is hoping she's your sister."

"Diadem's my girl, and I'm the only one for her, sorry," Armagnac said, his eyes riveted on the screen projecting an image of the slender girl with fire-red hair.

The male portion of the audience was quick to show their disappointment, promptly elbowed by their wives and girlfriends.

"While we're on topic, any thought on the girl tributes?" Caesar said, his smile never leaving his face.

Armagnac straightened in his seat. "Diadem's the only one for me."

The crowd cheered. Caesar almost tutted at the all too predictable answer. He liked his tributes a little more spry.

"Some of us have already listened to the records of your band," the man said, drawing cheers from the younger Capitolites, "how does it feel not to lead but to be lead now?"

"Corsair has all it takes to take us far, it'd be a waste of time to challenge him. But we'll all be on our own in the end, and I don't think he can make me love him enough to let him steal my victory," Armagnac said with a half-smile.

The crowd laughed. Caesar repressed the urge to sigh. Unassuming and nice were not exciting angles, even if they were rather unusual for Careers. _One last chance, my boy._

"You're in the last two with little Bryony from Twelve, what do you do?"

"Rush towards her with a sword," Armagnac said instantly. He spread his hands before him. "Come on, what else can I do?" he paused. "Tributes always get ugly creatures like mutts thrown at them in the end, and I've been taught to defend little kids. I can't protect her if I'm too far or if my sword is unsheathed."

The crowd that had been stunned into disapproving silence erupted into cheers. Caesar smiled as he led Armagnac out. Such a shame that the tribute's sense of show had been so late to come.

"And now our most feral tribute: the girl with the deadly whip, Carnelia Aspen!"

The all too tall girl wore a tight fitting leopard suit, her mane of auburn hair covering her naked back. Fake claw-like nails shone blood red under the stage lights. Her stylist had sacrificed her femininity to accentuate her fierceness and the result was quite striking.

"First, the question that's been keeping us awake at night," Caesar began, "who's the dwarf?"

Carnelia's eyebrows shot up. "Master Imp? Oh, he's an old friend. He's the one who taught me about whips when I was a kid. His circus, Meraviglie, travels to the Capitol too, I'm sure."

"Then I'll be sure to go," Caesar said before uncrossing his legs. He found he actually meant it.

"You're a very naughty girl, you know, Carnelia," he said, shaking a pointed finger at her, "you poisoned the favored volunteer in your section before she had the chance to speak out."

That was news to the Capitol who gasped as one.

Carnelia's mouth thinned into a feral smirk. "How far would you go to have the honor of seeing the Capitol? And to win the Games?"

Caesar smiled as shouts of encouragement shot from the crowd. She was already more of a player than Armagnac, he liked that.

"We haven't seen a whip so artfully mastered since the 37th Games. Why put your fate into the hands of such a tricky weapon?"

"Don't you find it beautiful?" Carnelia said, licking her lips in anticipation, "how it cracks in the air? How it snakes towards its prey? How you escape unscathed from the fountain of blood that would burst from the poor victim's throat," she said, drawing an invisible line on her neck with a long painted nail. Then she shrugged. "Of course, if you prefer, I'm decent at swords."

A cruel smile lit her face as the crowd begged for the chain whip.

"Your parents didn't come to see you off after you volunteered," Caesar said, compassion darkening his features.

"Why would they? I'm just a disappointment," she said, spitting the words out.

"I can't believe that," Caesar said, his eyes wide in surprise as he crossed his legs again.

"I was only mediocre in training, because exams with swords and knives or spears are compulsory. They didn't want me to train at night, because they believed I was so hopeless that they desperately wanted me to find a husband. They'd have had me shorten my legs, so that someone would deign look at me." The Capitol winced as one at the mention of that atrociously painful operation. "Master Imp is the only adult who ever cared about how I felt. My parents are probably just expecting me to die."

How horrible. True or not, some people were dubbing tears off their faces despite Carnelia's icy tone.

"You'll prove them wrong, I'm sure," Caesar said kindly.

"Must you even ask, Mr Flickerman," she replied with another cruel smile.

She stood up and threw her head back. She howled in the same way she had during the chariot rides, leaving a horde of newly conquered fans wishing her luck.

"Our greatest fighter this year, the mighty Corsair!"

One sentence and order was re-established. One sentence and the cruel Carnelia would be lucky if a dozen sponsors still remembered her. There were none so fickle in their affection than sponsors. Few tributes understood the hardest battle was fought here, this very night, and not in the arena. The strapping young man had been clad in black leather closely resembling body armor. His sole presence commanded respect. Caesar could well see why no Career sought to challenge his leadership.

"Prepared, Corsair?" Caesar asked, letting the other set the tone of their little chat.

The boy's thin lips twitched, as if humoring the host. "The question is, are you prepared for the Games I will offer you?"

The audience was prompt to rise to the challenge. Caesar smile grew broader.

"Would we be correct to assume your plans include the beautiful Aurora?"

The screens displayed the fearsome tribute offering his divine district partner to the heavens, the grizzlies only adding to the couple's magnetism.

"I will stand between her and darkness," Corsair said in solemn tones, his dark eyes defying anyone to challenge him.

"So we truly have a Prince Charming," Caesar exclaimed, delighted, "but is she the only damsel in distress that will need saving?"

Corsair's smile widened in cold amusement. "You misunderstand me. Aurora is no helpless maiden. I despise helplessness. Her strength surpasses her beauty. Male or female, those whose hearts are too weak for the Games will forget themselves and sacrifice even their dignity to a false hope."

"So you will not come to any other's aid?"

"I have a pact with the other Careers. I will not fail to defend them as is an ally's duty. But when the others will come, untrained and uncertain, in the hope of killing us without having the necessary resolve, they will be swift to fall."

Caesar was impressed by the handsome youth's vibrancy. Corsair was too intense and serious to make the crowd love him, but he was making sure those who did would sell their silks and jewels to see him win. Caesar considered himself a compassionate man, he never asked the tributes delicate questions. So instead of asking Corsair if would give his life for Aurora, he put on a slightly cowed expression.

"I pray they all hide," he breathed.

Rarely had the crowd been so silent.

"Then I will hunt them down. If I am to be Prince Charming, they are pathetic goblins. Their only role in this is to show that we deserve the victory."

"Well, well," Caesar exclaimed, impressed, "such confidence is a marvel. And with an eleven, you have little to worry about."

"I am not confident, Mr Flickerman," Corsair said, standing up, "I am certain."

His soles echoed against the wood as he walked towards the edge of the stage. In Caesar's mind, there was no doubt the gallant kiss the tribute planted on the white clad Aurora's hand had been carefully orchestrated. The girl whispered something in Corsair's ear, her flowing bustier dress torture for any lustful male. A pure forbidden fruit. Caesar almost laughed at the drooling faces in the first rows but was chagrined that only a portion of his audience would be paying attention to their words.

"Dearest, you shame me, thirty years of experience and my words fail me,," the host said sadly, causing good-natured laughter to fill the theater.

"There is no shame in appreciating beauty. I was speechless myself after catching a glimpse of this city and I can assure you I spend no time gaping before my own mirror. I may have been born with looks, but style is something undeniably unique to Capitol women."

The mix of vanity and praise was clever. The hostility of the female portion of the crowd seemed to evaporate.

"Style," Caesar grinned, his arms wide as the cameras focused on his smart blue suit, "I know for one that you have your very own. Twin blades and deadly knives! Have you always been so dexterous?"

"I have always attracted attention, Mr Flickerman, even attention from those more advanced in training than I was. I had to be better. The Games hold no monopoly on deadly competition."

The husky tones and eyes full of untold victories were a great mood setter, especially with Aurora slowly moving her long legs as she talked, but the answer was still too serious for his tastes.

"Your father came out bloodied from the justice building."

"I would've killed him had it been legal," Aurora replied with frightening intensity.

Caesar's eyes widened as he waited for her to elaborate. She didn't. Her lips twitched when she understood his intent.

"Bring me his head, and I will quench your thirst for scandal."

Young men prepared to damn themselves for a taste of those lascivious lips bolted to their feet, passionately pledging themselves to her, making promises insubstantial as the whisper of the wind. The storm of emotions the blonde had raised was inebriating.

"A woman of strength and character, yet you have no qualms about letting Corsair protect you," The host pointed out with a knowing smile.

"Why shouldn't I let him?" Aurora turned to the crowd. "Wouldn't you want him to protect you, Ladies?"

Of course they wanted to. Caesar escorted her amidst the thunderous clamor to the edge of the stage, a spring in his step. The magic of the interview night was truly unparalleled.

Algor Feyn was a shy one. They were the hardest. When they finally started talking, they usually spoke their minds, leaving Caesar to repair the damage.

"Rumors are you are a very intelligent young man. Your name is well known among our esteemed mathematicians," Caesar began gently, wanting to put him at ease.

Algor flashed him a bright, forced smile. "Yeah, I'm the luckiest guy, right? I was born with the right talent in the right district. My own research, published, at fifteen!"

Caesar clapped, letting himself look very impressed. Those were not achievements to sneer at.

"I was working on something that might've made it possible to spare more space for leisure in the Capitol. It's very complicated maths, but I was told you'd like that," Algor pursued, earning excited and approving chatter from the crowd. Space in the fortress city was the only dear commodity.

Caesar frowned faintly, the dark-haired boy's voice was hitching and there was a gleam of desperation in his eyes.

"As I said, complicated maths. There aren't many people who were gifted enough to get results. And you're all going to laugh when one of those of those very few will die a horrible death."

That's what the host had been fearing. The crowd's silence was deafening.

"I won't laugh," a young female voice said.

"See. We all want you to win Algor," Caesar said genially, hastily getting the situation back under control. "Surely a mind such as yours has surprises in store for us?" He said, putting a hand on the boy's arm.

Algor's eye flickered with fear.

Suddenly more subdued, he bit his lip. "You'll remember me," he said, a hint of determination in his dark eyes.

"That's the spirit," Caesar exclaimed happily, glad the tribute had chosen the wisest course. He brushed his fingers under his seat, making the buzzer go off early.

Supportive clapping marked Algor's exit.

"And now the charming Mercury who gifted us with her presence in the city streets yesterday afternoon!"

Charming indeed, with her hair styled and curled and a black leather suit decorated with thin strands of bright blue material, giving her an electrified look. She sat crossed legged on her chair, her eyes wide and attentive.

"So what did you think of the Capitol?" Caesar said expectantly.

"I will never regret having insisted so much to go. Your streets are stupendous and your suspended gardens worth dying for." Her smile turned mischievous. "Although I'll keep the dying for when I'll have adult grandchildren to bury me."

The Capitol laughed and cheered. Caesar could see the gardens' popularity soaring before his eyes.

"I'd promise to come, but I fear my time will ring before yours," Caesar said. He grew more serious. "Family must be very important to you, having grown up as an orphan."

"I don't think you can appreciate parents as much as someone who has lost them," Mercury said wistfully, "there are many of us in the orphanage, and the facilities are pretty good, but we are all very alone. There are holes even friends cannot fill."

The audience sighed, some holding on tighter to their loved ones, other sniffing behind their handkerchiefs. Caesar almost sighed himself. After Algor's accusations, her cooperation was relaxing.

"But don't friends help?" Caesar insisted, hoping to get her to reveal some juicy personal detail.

"Of course!" Her face grew contrite. "And I've been a terrible friend myself. I was so excited yesterday that I misplaced my brain. I should've taken Drake along with me."

Caesar blinked. He'd expected the boy to mention her but not the other way around. The screens showed the two of them laughing at lunchtime, Algor eating quietly by the girl's side.

"Drake from district Six, eh?" Caesar said winking, drawing whistles and catcalls from the crowd.

"Shh," Mercury hissed at the crowd, "my mentor doesn't want me to even consider dating."

The icy glare the stern-looking Aster shot at the camera now directed at him caused even some grown men to recoil. He seemed even less well-disposed than the withdrawn young man Caesar remembered. He wondered though, considering the long hours Mercury spent each evening discussing strategy with her mentor.

"We won't say a word then," Caesar promised, "now tell me, you've chatted with many other tributes. Who should we watch out for?"

Mercury sighed dramatically. "I'd say they're all so hopeless you should skip the Games altogether and declare me the victor."

A moment passed and then the Capitol was roaring with laughter.

The girl brought a fist down on her lap. "Didn't fall for that, did you? Pity," she said, lips twitching, "well, I tried..."

Caesar chuckled heartily, leaning back into his chair and quickly sifting through a myriad of possible last questions.

"What do you want these Hunger Games to be, Mercury?

Caesar could almost see the wheels turning behind the girl's eyes. The crowd was hooked, but you never con a con artist, and he was the best. She was as spontaneous as he was. But who knew, maybe the little manipulator would go far.

"An epic story to tell my awed children," she said softly, her eyes full of stars. "And a great occasion for my sponsors to rip off everyone else's because they were wise enough to bet on me," she added with a smirk.

The awws turned into cheers. She left triumphantly, almost casual in her step.

Caesar laughed. "Are they not delightful this year!"

The crowd's cheers rattled the ceiling.

Orvis wore a dark red one-piece suit. It toughened him up, but still had a lobster vibe to it. Caesar smiled, it was a fun design.

"The Careers refused to let you join. How do you feel about that now?"

"Among the Careers, I'd have been a weak link, expendable. But with a seven, I'm objectively good. Careers win only about half the Games despite all their training, so I'm positive."

Caesar had to bite back a laugh, the poor lad was painting a rather large target over his head. He nodded at the sound reasoning, liking the cheerful tone.

"Your friend Paloma is among the Careers. She _is_ your friend right?"

"As much as we can be friends," Orvis said, hanging his head, "she belongs to the Careers. She'll have the most chances there."

Caesar nodded again, a little disappointed he'd gone so serious. He decided to spice up the evening.

"How does it feel to think your sister had sat here just a few years ago?"

The crowd 'ahed' in recognition as Lina Anchor's picture appeared on the screen, riding a gray stallion in the 61st Games' tundra arena.

"She had an eleven. She died like every other one, and not even at the victor's hand. Proof I've got a chance," Orvis said, the beginning of a snarl tugging at his lips.

Truly, he did not want the crowd to like him. Maybe with a shove in the right direction….

"So you trained with her fiancé to avenge her?"

"I trained with West to forget the pain of losing not only the sister I adored but also the parents I loved to their grief. West has to fight everyday just to get on with his life and not mourn the woman he wanted to marry."

The pain in his voice caused Caesar's heart to clench. Many in the crowd were unabashedly shedding tears. Orvis had done well not to sound accusing, but as long as he didn't have anything to fight for they would not save him. Caesar decided to forgo subtlety.

"Orvis, do you want to go home?"

The tribute gaped at him slightly before pulling himself together. "I man a pearl farm. Big, fancy pearls," he said, miming the size pointedly, "y_ou_ want me to go home."

That drew appreciative chuckles from the crowd.

Not a fiasco, but he definitely could've put in a little more effort. Caesar waved cheerfully at Orvis' retreating back. No matter, some tributes gained their sympathy points in the arena anyway.

Paloma's dress was a tight-fitting sleeveless dress of rainbow fish-scales that covered her from neck to calf. Eye-catching but very no-nonsense. Now Caesar had to make her likable.

"How does our pretty mermaid feel so far from the sea?" He began, gesturing towards the seat with a welcoming smile.

"Proud." Paloma said with a small smug smile.

"Proud?" Caesar curiously pressed.

"I have never been gladder to provide the Capitol with the sea's treasures. My head is spinning from the inventiveness displayed in both your and the audience's clothes and make-up. I'm hard pressed to believe we were the only ones with stylists tonight."

Caesar grinned with real warmth. He'd known she'd speak the words but everyone loved to have their homeland praised.

"Why thank you! Your reaping humbled many of us. You had no intention to participate, had you," he said, compassion evident in his eyes.

"Lynn and I believed ourselves to be indestructible and invincible when we were girls," Paloma began, her brown eyes far away, "best friends watch out for each other. I have the job of my dreams and a family I cannot bear to think of leaving, but I would have hated myself forever had I let her walk to her death. She'll be as bouncy as ever within a couple of years."

"She didn't look very hale."

Paloma stared at the understatement. "Marrow cancer, near terminal. It doesn't take just anything for me to walk in front of all of Panem in such a pathetic state. I think we're in the top list of worse reaping weather ever."

The Capitol laughed at her peeved tone. They'd seen the loyal friend, time to see the warrior.

"You've been a pacifier among the Careers during the last few days. Four is often a tricky district, do you really feel a part of them?"

"I share their will to win and their ability to succeed. I strongly disapprove of their contempt for other tributes. I will not pretend I am unlike the tributes I will seek to murder."

Mixed reactions followed the statement. Some people wore pleased grim smiles, others looked upset and a small fraction just rolled their eyes. Caesar knew she would appeal to the aging purists of the Capitol. The ones who detested the Districts and who were more interested in efficient subservience than in what they called 'Blood morphling', the excitement others found in the grizzlier aspects of the Games. The same purists who advocated a public hanging of the reaped tributes rather than the Hunger Games.

"Did the others not confront you about introducing a tribute with a four in training in the Career pack?"

Paloma smiled. "The Games are about more than just waving weapons. Or meeting hot guys," she added, raising a cohort of whistles, "Messenger has a perfect memory and a resistance I admire. Those are the talents we need, not another person who is great at swords."

"Talking about hot guys, your grandfather had his own legion of fans in his time," Caesar said, grinning at the old picture of the then sandy-haired and ruggedly handsome Thulis. "Is in it great to have him here? We're certainly happy to see him again after all these years."

"I have a name to live up to," Paloma said solemnly, "he's making sure I do."

Her grandfather smiled thinly, raising a hand in salute at the live camera as the crowd made a wave which turned into loud clapping when Paloma rose to take her leave.

Caesar had his chin against his hand when Victor came into view. The tribute wore his silver suit with great distinction and could've been mistaken for a Capitolite with his hair partially sleeked back and ending into distinguished curls. Only their all too common dark brown colour gave him away.

"Your family is better connected in District Five than I am in the Capitol. I'm almost nervous, Victor," Caesar said with false modesty.

The tribute superbly ignored the loud chuckles. "You have been gracing these halls longer than I have lived, it is I who should be intimidated."

Smooth. Caesar was tempted to play at who had the greatest social skill. He'd win of course. He smiled bashfully at Victor's compliment, deciding it would be unfair to the poor tribute.

"Why, you'll make me blush, Victor. Now tell me, with a powerful name like yours, I suppose you're quite confident?"

Victor flashed the cameras a charming smile, at ease like a fish in the sea. "It would be an insult to every sponsoring citizen to presume they do not control my winning chances. I have everything it takes to win. I just need your endorsement."

Caesar wondered if it was possible to burst from an excess of flattery. He believed he saw a woman faint. Tributes acknowledged the Capitol beauty but rarely managed to compliment them on their power. Bull's-eye.

"Your score proves you've prepared. Why put in the effort knowing you were one of the less likely to be reaped?"

"The odds are unpredictable, everyone is concerned by the Games. Besides, why remain idle when training can make you strong? I'm glad to have had the opportunity."

Caesar smiled, both at the words and the forced enthusiasm behind them, but few in the audience had his eye for half-truths.

"Your mother has called almost everyday to check that you were treated well. I know big boys like you sometimes find that embarrassing."

Victor softened. "When the stakes are so high, I'd be upset if she didn't. Wouldn't you want your mother to care if you were in the Games?"

Caesar stiffened. He'd expected a grand declaration of confidence, not such an underhand blow. Livius would have his head if there was unrest before his last Games.

The host sighed, pain lacing his voice. "My mother banished me from her life the day the papers established I wore dresses better than she did." He lowered his voice "I was a rather inebriated."

The scandal had fueled Capitol gossip for months. The audience was crying with laughter at the reminder and Victor was momentarily forgotten. After the pregnant young lady who'd been reaped along with her little brother, Caesar was confident he could deal with anything. He still couldn't believe the tribute had brought up _his mother_.

"So Victor, a handsome boy like you surely you have a lady back home?"

"Caesar," Victor began in low tones, "from one man to another, you're really asking me this now that I've caught a glimpse of Capitol girls?"

The green-haired host chuckled, clapping him on the back before seeing him off the stage. High-pitched voices were still calling his name when Skye came into view. The tribute had a becoming pink dress that gave her a healthy shine. A nice change from her usual appearance. As she walked, Caesar noticed she was barefoot; little golden bells around each ankle. How very quaint. From all the pointing in the crowd, some found the idea brilliant.

"I've been told you go by Mouse." Caesar began curiously.

The girl didn't answer, blinking like a cornered animal under the projectors.

"You work for the major do you not? With other children your age, keeping the city clean."

Skye's eyes focused on him. "I'm among the oldest actually," she said after another pause, "the triplets are eight. They work from dusk till dawn, because they fit in little places. Dangerous, uncomfortable places no one else wants to go in. I clean and fix the solar panels, on roofs. It puts food on the table and it's outside at least. Most everyone my age works, it's nothing special."

Caesar couldn't believe they'd reached the 63rd Games and some people still came hands empty, without angles. The laziness of children knew no bounds.

"But climbing roofs must be very exciting, I've heard District Five is very pretty from above."

"It is, but I'm not paid to sightsee."

Caesar tutted. "Your employer is rather harsh."

"No, we're rather well off as a family. Since the four of us work, I rarely have to skip a meal." Skye said, looking confused by his words.

Then he saw it, the stubborn cast to her lips. The imp was playing him. She knew she wasn't cooperating. Foolish little rebels. They were powerless here.

"Victors never skip meals," Caesar said with a wink

Skye shook her head. "A mouse is a little creature, rarely seen, but it leaves clear signs of its passage. My clean roofs being a more glamorous sign than their usual trails," she added, tearing smiles from the crowd. "A mouse is agile but lacks imagination. In truth, my plans stop after the Cornucopia for now."

"After the Cornucopia is already pretty good."

"Please don't make fun of me Mr. Flickerman," the tribute said with a half smile.

The audience laughed at the host's slight blush.

Grasping her hand to help her rise, Caesar noticed how awfully tense she was. Why hadn't her mentor prepared her? Was it too much to ask? His smile was back in place when Drake walked in, a dark blue short-sleeved silk shirt hugging his fit frame.

The boy cheerfully waved at the crowd, the same childish set to his face that had won over half the mothers in the Capitol.

"Good evening, Caesar. You don't mind if I call you Caesar?" He said, forcing his voice to sound deeper to the crowd's great amusement.

"Not at all young man," Caesar said, his grin soon replaced by a worried frown, "you're not angry at Mercury, are you?"

Drake crossed his arms, a pout darkening his adorable face, "Angry? I'm furious! She left me behind. She knows I'd have given a leg to see the Capitol." His pout dissolved into a grin. "But she's pretty, so she's forgiven."

"Besides," he told the smiling crowd with the air of one revealing great secrets, "I'd already seen the gardens from far away."

"How," Caesar asked his disbelief unfeigned.

"I sneaked into a hovercraft when I was little. I was lucky to get away with a whipping when they found me, but it was worth it. I had always wanted to see the city."

"You were a very adventurous child," Caesar exclaimed over the crowd's amazed chatter.

And luck personified. Caesar couldn't help but envy the tribute. He'd himself seldom had the courage to try out the wild projects he had made as a boy. And now... No matter how powerful he'd become, he couldn't turn back time.

"Still am," Drake grinned, tearing him from his musings, "I'll know the arena better than the gamemakers themselves by the time the Games are over. Be ready for some sightseeing!"

He was a breath of fresh air, the crowd loved him.

Hawk was very plain, even with make-up and a dress that tried to soften her massive frame. Caesar hoped she'd make up for it with an attitude, or sponsors would not spare her a second glance.

"You've been a little left out of alliances, but a six is a very respectable score. Do you think it will change things?"

Hawk smirked, cracking her knuckles. "They might beg louder before I smash my fist in their faces."

Caesar grinned amidst the cheers. "You knocked a man out in the Justice Building."

Hawk huffed. "Dad's thick when Towler, my man, is involved. They were brawling like riled-up kids. I didn't measure my strength when I pushed them apart. It's all his teaching though, so I hope he isn't too pissed off."

People laughed before whistling in appreciation and surprise when a picture of Hawk's toned boyfriend appeared.

"F… All too handsome for me, isn't he?" Hawk said with a huge grin. "It's my sweet personality."

Even Caesar couldn't bite back a snort. "I'm sure it is."

"I've got lots of hidden talents," the tribute assured him with a smirk, fueling catcalls from the crowd.

"We've seen you paint beautifully too."

"If you see a tree too pretty to be in the arena, it's me for sure. My legs are first rate trunk material."

Ah, the marvel of self-deprecation. Caesar chuckled to himself as she left the stage, inwardly congratulating her.

* * *

**So what do you think of Caesar? And of the tributes? Would you sponsor some of them if the only thing you knew about them was what the interviews showed?**


	23. Interviews: Promises to keep

It wasn't a boy but a sprite that graced the stage with his beaming presence. Yolo wore a tight green suit and pointed shoes. His hair seemed hastily done, partially held-up with large wooden pins. Quite the little wildling.

"Yolo," Caesar greeted with a broad smile. "Why, you don't even need to be here. You've got quite a following already," He said, prompting the crowd to redouble their screams of support.

"But if I hadn't come, I wouldn't have seen them, and they wouldn't have seen me for real, and that would've been unfair," The long-haired tribute answered, crossing his arms for emphasis.

_Absolutely._

"So happy to be here then?"

"Thrilled! This reaping was one of the best days of my life."

Caesar grinned back, the boy's sheer exuberance catching. "That's too much honor. Surely we are not the sole responsible then?"

Yolo's smile vanished to be replaced by a star-eyed faraway expression. "My parent's divorce wasn't pretty. My sister Dasheen went to live with Dad while the rest of us stayed with Mum. Dasheen hadn't talked to Mum or my other three siblings in years. The reaping made us a real family again."

The tribute's features were too irregular and his body too tough and stringy to be classically attractive, but the crowd gushed as loud as for the prettiest new-born babe.

"That's so sweet." Caesar turned to the crowd. "Now this year, our two youngest tributes have banded together. Wouldn't you feel safer by joining another alliance, Yolo?"

"No."

His terse response elicited hearty chuckles from the audience.

Caesar lifted thick dyed eyebrows in interest. "Then you must tell us your secrets."

"I have an awesome guardian angel. You just wait and see."

A pity Yolo would only be embarrassed by queries on the unfortunately not-single Bryony.

Caesar concealed his disappointment and leaned forward expectantly. "How awesome?"

"Corsair's won't even see him coming," Yolo promised.

The massive tribute just smirked at the camera, his hand against the corridor's wall, just above Aurora's shoulder.

Yolo skipped out. The crowds' enthusiasm out-shined only by his own.

Gamina was much trickier. Her figure and flattering ochre dress were worth a hundred clever comebacks, but Caesar still willed the girl to temper her hostility. You'd think her dog had just died.

"What a gloomy cast to such a fair face," Caesar said kindly.

"Don't you blind yourself by looking into the mirror, Mr Flickerman? The sun would look gloomy next to you," she said, lips twitching.

Caesar beamed as the crowd cheered. Maybe he'd been hasty in his judgment of the girl.

"It's just Dash was about to kiss me when you called my name," she grumbled.

_Ahh, in that case._ Tindal blew her a kiss on the giant screen, to the crowd's great delight.

"So, your ax throwing is quite impressive, I suppose you'll be proving just how much in the arena, in case some of us have already forgotten?" Caesar said with a smile.

"I hack, always have. Well, rarely people, but they can't be sturdier than the trees back home."

Caesar's eyebrows shot up at the very practical tones she used. The rowdier part of the crowd wasn't shy about voicing their approval.

"You are not afraid." It wasn't a question.

Gamina smiled thinly. "I have a mortal disease." She said, stunning the crowd to silence. "I am healthy today but within five years, had I stayed in Seven, I would have drowned in my own mucus. Only Capitol medication can heal me and winning is the only way to obtain it. And maybe I will be able to afford enough to save the innocent children who are born with cystic fibrosis back home."

People died from cystic fibrosis in the districts? _Really?_ Such barbaric places!

"So do we, the poor little dears," Caesar cooed.

"What's to cherish if not the children?" Gamina asked rhetorically before taking her leave.

Caesar smiled, sparing a loving thought for his own two spirited little darlings before focusing on the next tribute.

"Ah, the hero of the day! Tell me, Tesu, do you have news of your family?"

"No, but I'm sure my little sister is very happy with the Florins and almost as well fed as I am!"

On cue, the Asian's stomach grumbled loudly.

Caesar chuckled. "And what about your parents?"

"My mother is a stone-hearted harpy. She wanted us to grow up feeling worthless. She will die friendless and alone," Tesu said with a humorless smile, "my father has a chance at happiness, if he grows some balls."

Caesar winced. "That's a harsh thing to say about one's mother."

Tesu bowed his head. "The districts are a harsher place than the Capitol. I'm sure none of your children have to grub in the old train tunnels in the hope of finding paint dust to sell."

"That's awful indeed! Yet amongst the hundreds of boys, only two volunteered," Caesar pointed out. Attracting too much attention on the living conditions in the districts would be sloppy of him.

"My life had little meaning. I'm not even sure to lose and Spindle is sure to be happy, to be free to choose her husband and to have well fed little children."

Such loyalty.

Tesu smiled slyly before Caesar could continue. "And did you catch a glance at Gloria Florin in the justice building? Wouldn't you be a hero just for a kiss like that?"

The blonde appeared on screen, _and boy! What a woman_. An enrapturing kisser too from the look on Tesu's face. Any reply of Caesar's was drowned by wolf whistles and catcalls.

"Older women, huh?" Caesar finally said.

"Of course," Tesu said in flirtatious tones, winking at the ladies in the crowd.

Caesar grinned broadly, causing the tribute to blush and the crowd to hoot. "One final applause for our self-sacrificing Tesu!"

The short Georgie had been transformed into a lean beauty. High heels complimented her slim legs and the dress made one forget her childish body and concentrate on her attractive face.

"One of our youngest tributes and now the leader of an alliance of which you recruited every single member. You must be proud of your accomplishment," Caesar said, with an appraising stare.

"I'm the eldest, and the main provider of my family. I've always had to be older than my years." Georgie said matter-of-factly. "I'm proud but also flattered they accept to follow my lead. I know I'm not skilled at weapons, outside snares of course, but I'm good at making people be efficient about things."

"Those are talents just as much as weapons."

Georgie snorted. "I wouldn't have gotten a four if they mattered to the gamemakers. But I'm glad they matter to you."

"They matter to many of us," Caesar said in reassuring tones. "So you're the sole provider of your family?"

A small smile graced her ruby lips. "Satin is my little spark of living lightning. She barely reaches my knees but she's everywhere at the same time and her laughter warms the house better than any fire. Batiste is her opposite, he's smart as a scholar and mysterious as the moon. He's nine but he already takes it upon himself to shoulder everyone's burdens. Not that I let him," Georgie said seriously.

"The siblings we all wish we had." Caesar said, echoing the smiling crowd.

A shadow crossed the ginger's face. "They're waiting for me to come home. I have a million things to still teach them and share with them. I have to win."

"I'm sure your best will yield quite surprising results," Caesar said, projecting confidence.

"My family's survival and happiness deserves more than my best, but they'll have my best."

Caesar nodded, gazing intensely in the ginger's eyes before letting her go with a toothy smile. He wondered sometimes if the tributes understood _why_ the Games were so important.

The audience erupted into cheers and laughter when Harrow appeared. A six-foot tall, broad-chested mummy. White fabric decorated with blue and gold hieroglyphs and artfully done make-up. He looked more like a faithful guardian than an intimidating monster.

Caesar chuckled. "Keeping promises, Harrow?"

"Of course I do, I was raised by proper!" He spread his arms wide. "And mummies are cool. You can dress as anything with all your money. I really don't see why you stick to dresses and suits. Even fancy ones."

His genuine confusion fueled the crowds' laughter. But maybe the lad had a point.

"I'm sure your escort Aegis is quite flattered."

Harrow sobered, suddenly looking much more adult. "I didn't even know Aegis was dressed up as a scribe before my little bro Emmet said it. It's because of his stories that I know of mummies. He's scary smart, reading lots and working hard to have a top job."

"You don't read," Caesar asked.

"I can, but I mostly bring food back, working in the mills with my Step Ma, so Emmer has enough to keep his big brain working hard and tiny Teff enough energy to shake us awake at dawn. I swear he'd win against the lot of you in a noise contest. Can you show a picture, Sir? I was with him four minutes before the reapings started."

Caesar hesitated but couldn't refuse the crowd. He bit back a rueful smile. "Why, of course!"

Harrow wasn't the brightest among the tributes but he knew to listen to sound advice. Teff was a scrumptious little kid, with rosy cheeks and a tough build. He was on Harrow's shoulders, the family resemblance striking. Caesar smiled at the scene, feeling a tightening of his chest. Yes, Harrow listened very well.

"Aren't they adorable at that age?"

Harrow grinned. "Teff's especially adorable."

_Yes he is…_ The audience still had to tear their eyes from the pair.

"Did you know Rosemary before the Games? All of Panem saw you comfort her on the platform."

"Everyone knows Fat Rose. She's the best healer in the district, does more good than half of us all combined. She's my friend," Harrow said, now staring glumly at the ground.

"You'll be protecting her then?" Caesar asked, the crowd's attention back on them.

Harrow chuckled helplessly, a hollow sound. "She's a jarhead. I won't let her down, no matter what."

"Sure she's just a friend? You've been inseparable." Caesar pressed. He didn't want glum, He wanted drama.

Harrow stared. "I got a girl, Mirna." He paused and sighed. "Except we fought some time back and... Rose… It doesn't matter, the Games are no place to fool around."

Caesar gave him a compassionate glance, thrilled that the tribute had caught on. Now the Capitol would wonder.

Rosemary wore a flowing green dress which was cut to leave neither her shapely legs nor the curve of her breasts to the imagination. She took three uncertain steps on her black laced stilettos, kicked them off, drawing whistles from the crowd, and walked briskly up to Caesar.

He chuckled. "Not one for heels?"

"Try running four miles to give birth on high heels. But it's a pity to waste them."

To Caesar's surprise, she stood up just as briskly, retrieved her shoes and threw them to a girl in the front row. The young woman squealed in surprise and delight.

"My pleasure," Rosemary said with a tight smile.

"So Harrow just told us you were Nine's best healer," Caesar said, leaning forward in interest.

"Do you know the healer's vow, Mr Flickerman," Rose asked seriously.

"Can't say I do," Caesar admitted.

"I am to heal any who asks and hold life sacred above all else. I would betray everything I am if I were to kill. I will bring aid to anyone who asks in the arena as long as they do not kill while in my care. We will never meet again, Mr Flickerman," she said, looking resigned but at peace.

Caesar blinked, suddenly wary, aware he would not change her mind. "Why didn't you let the volunteers take your place then?"

The host winced. He'd blurted the question, curious himself. In retrospect, it was unprofessional. Ripples of unease had stilled the crowd to silence.

"Many that I could have healed will suffer now, and it's my fault, I just couldn't go sending someone to their death like that. Not for me. It was stupid." A ghost of a smile lit her lips "Jarhead as Harrow says."

"But you're glad Harrow is with you," Caesar said, hoping to salvage the situation.

"More than you could ever know," the auburn-haired young woman said.

"I'm happy you have each other," Caesar said genially. The audience was recovering, whispering about the couple and smiling at the giant screens showing the best moments the two tributes had shared in the Capitol.

Rosemary smiled. "So am I. Sponsor him if it's me you'd support. It won't be wasted money."

"A beautiful gesture," Caesar said, clapping along with the crowd. He wiped his brow discreetly in relief.

Chester wore dark blue trousers with a long red-trimmed coat of the same blue with golden buttons that matched those of his blue shirt. His neatly tied back brown hair had not been touched. Caesar eyed him sharply.

"Old era postman, Messenger?"

"Old era 1875, according to my stylist. I don't look half as classy back home," Chester said with a nervous smile.

"Well you're certainly dashing here," Caesar assured him, "now, how are you feeling about your alliance?"

"Quite confident actually. I mean, they're not stupid and killing me would be really stupid," he said earnestly, drawing laughs from the audience.

"At the _beginning_, yes," Caesar said, giving the brown haired boy a knowing smile.

"You just need a fist and good timing to kill someone. My wits aren't dependent on my allies. I have a family and friends to come back to."

Caesar wondered if there would come a day where he would dare to answer back _Really?_ in a sarcastic tone. Originality was such a scarce commodity.

"Don't you have a friend here?" the host asked with a wink.

Chester flashed him a smile. "If you change the rules and two can win, I'd love to introduce Paloma to my family."

People whistled at the open declaration, Paloma was grinning on the other side of the stage, her hand on Orvis' arm.

Caesar pounced on the opportunity. "What do you think of Orvis?" He whispered.

"Paloma is loyal. He's her district partner and the first person she met after having volunteered. She did everything to help him. But it's me she's in the Careers with," Chester said with a proud smirk.

The blend of respect and possessiveness was perfect. The audience laughed, sharing knowing looks with their neighbors.

"Indeed she is."

"Mr Flickerman, I have a question for you," Chester said, almost interrupting him.

Caesar raised twin eyebrows.

"I've seen postcards of Ten sold near the Hoverports as souvenirs for Capitol visitors. Where are the cards of the Capitol for us to send home? See, my mother was upset I would be seeing the city."

Flatterer. The audience never tired of it.

Rachel strode in wearing a fringed sleeveless synthetic pelt over a tight-fitting mini-dress. Her knee-high white boots clicked loudly on the floor as she reached her seat.

"Howdy," she said tersely, flicking magenta-streaked hair out of her eyes.

"Hoping for horses in the arena? You caused quite a scene during the Chariot Rides," Caesar said, smiling at the screens replaying her impromptu bull ride.

"I'd rather keep things clean and not get beasts in the mix. I've got a special fondness of them."

"You have stayed on your own these last few days," Caesar began, wanting to see her vulnerable side.

"Indeed. And I obtained a six in training while no one here saw me handle weapons."

"That was my next question," Caesar admitted, making the audience chuckle.

"I like being mysterious," she said with a smug smile.

"You're no fun!" Caesar joked, affecting a pout. Except she wasn't. Mysterious wasn't an angle that worked unless you were truly unique.

The magenta-haired girl scowled. The scowl that had imprinted itself on many a Capitolite's mind. It spoke of fierce retaliation.

"Not even a hint on the weapon type?" Caesar begged.

Rachel seemed to consider it. "It's come in useful my line of work," she granted.

"The arena is a harsh place to brave alone," Caesar said, resigned to see her fail to make an impression.

"You don't let go, do you?" Rachel huffed. The audience laughed. "I don't need anyone."

She pursed her lips. "Well, except you guys of course."

"And why should we help you?" Caesar said, eyes glittering with curiosity. _Come on!_

"What's the fun if it's all over too quickly?" Rachel answered after a pause.

"None at all." Caesar agreed, seeing her out with a fake grin.

"And now, our entrancing and mysterious magician, Mesmer," he announced happily.

Caesar eyes glinted in anticipation as he saw the short boy enter in a black and green silk. Both shirt and pants had elaborate folds, no doubt to cover how skinny the boy was. Now his face captured all the attention, and many a girl's heart.

Mesmer walked up to the edge of the stage and bowed to the thrilled audience before reaching his seat. Nearly one minute lost. Caesar clenched a hand in annoyance before recovering his poise.

"You have astounded us all with your amazing skills. I doubt anyone here was surprised by your remarkable 10 in training. Do you think the Careers will rethink their decision now?"

A childish smile lit Mesmer's angelic features. "No, especially with my ten. They're afraid they can't protect themselves from me."

Caesar raised twin eyebrows in surprise, inwardly clapping at the perfectly delivered insult. The cameras turned on the District One and Two tributes, who all wore grim expressions, except for Armagnac, who was nodding with vehemence, earning himself little laughs from the crowd. Wise boy.

"Can they?" Caesar asked, leaning forward.

"I find people rarely see when I act," he said, producing a camera from his robes.

Caesar stared. He noticed belatedly that one of the screens was now focused on the tribute's shoes.

The host clapped his hands together, his delight genuine. "You nicked it when you bowed!"

"They're so small; it was too tempting," Mesmer said with a smile, setting the finger-sized device down on the floor.

_Well done, little magician, but I can help you do better._

"Whispers are your girlfriend lives off her charms," Caesar said confidentially, drawing shocked gasps from the crowd.

Were Mesmer's fabulous green eyes a blade, Caesar was aware he would be living his last second. As expected, the boy before him stunned them all with his answer.

"I am a magician," Mesmer began with admirable poise, "I spin life into inanimate objects, I make beautiful what is mundane and attractive what is shunned. I can grow a flower in the poorest of grounds. My love is the first among flowers."

_In their pocket._ The right question and Caesar had just handed him the crowd. He let an admiring smile lit his face.

"That was one of the most beautiful thing I have heard," he said softly.

The three minute timer went off, almost unheard as the crowd begged Mesmer to stay.

Caesar had been warned about Apple. The ones who had made peace with their death could be unhinged. There was a needle mechanism on the seat to instantly put an embarrassing tribute to sleep, were it to come to that.

"You've been our most discreet tribute this year," Caesar began, "but sometimes, a very low training score hides a crafty mind."

"You're wondering if I'm just pretending at being useless?" Apple said with a grin.

Caesar chuckled. Maybe it was just an angle. She seemed amiable enough.

"Are you, Apple?"

"I'd hate to be considered such. I mean I was useful enough to be sold by my family to work in orchards at fifteen."

Caesar's mouth dropped. "That's awful!"

Surprise painted itself on Apple's face. "Really? It gets my other siblings enough food to survive. Don't you sell your children when you have too many?"

Caesar had to demand order. He now wondered if sheer naivety and an appalling sense of propriety were what the gamemakers had meant.

"The Capitol cares about their children," Caesar said, earning loud approval from the crowd.

She abruptly stood up. "That's why they teach them to love seeing kids close to their ages forced to murder each other when the only thing we want is to go home and be with our loved ones?"

Caesar's eyes flashed in panic. He had to act quickly. "The war that wracked this land over sixty years ago caused more destruction and bloodshed than you can imagine, girl. Because of the districts' greed and barbarism! We must protect ourselves from such ever happening again. I would think a member of District Eleven would know that better than anyone."

_District Eleven_. The Rebel District. The one the Capitol had debated on razing along with Thirteen. The reminder calmed the crowd down. Shock morphed into suspicion and hostility. Insults were hurled at Apple who just laughed as a peacekeeper grabbed her arm.

"What will you do? Kill me before the Games do? Persuade yourself you're good people? Kill my family, even the babies, like you murder so many others in cold blood?" She shouted before the man could silence her.

Caesar tutted as if she was just a misbehaving dog he had no control over. Nothing to get all worked up about. He scanned the audience. While there were more upset faces than he would've liked, the risk of riot was gone.

"Truly, with all the schools our taxes pay for. You'd think their education would not be so flawed and that they'd have more qualms at spreading such foul lies," he said, shaking his head sadly.

The crowd was under his control again but it could slip in an instant. Tindal Soot had better shine. The tribute was clad in a white suit. An odd color choice that caught the eye. The unpolished grace in his every gesture distracted from his plain features.

"Before we begin, I have an announcement to make," he said, a solemn cast to his face.

Caesar granted him permission with open arms, disguising his wariness under a broad grin.

"Gamina will turn seventeen when the clock chimes twelve tonight. I cannot bring myself to visit a lady empty handed and would be forever indebted to you were you to spare a flower I could gift her with."

Caesar decided he had a new personal favorite. The crowd grinned as one before erupting into cheers. It was the sweetest of all sounds.

The blushing Gamina could be seen shaking her head at the camera, annoyed yet unable to conceal her fondness of the wiry boy.

Caesar let himself be impressed. "You know how to win a girl's heart, Dash."

"Some women have a way of reaching into your soul and revealing the best in you," Dash replied with a modest smile.

"My, my, I believe we have a poet in our hands," Caesar said over the delighted chatter in the crowd.

"I dreamed of being a writer or storyteller as a child. Maybe in my old age I will find the time."

"You run fast, faster than anyone else here. Quick feet can bring you far."

"Quick feet and an ax even further," Dash smiled "and the loveliest ax wielder has seen fit to teach me."

"May the odds ever be with you," Caesar wished amongst the shouts of support. He'd have to ask Marc-Anthony to sponsor him for having distracted the crowd from Eleven's outburst.

"Last but not least, our little flower from Twelve, Bryony Succor," the host announced.

Bryony's pale blue dress was both chaste and ravishing, with long trailing sleeves and a belt of sapphires. The sparkling diadem in her hair gave her an air of nobility she bore surprisingly well. The audience was in a good mood just from seeing her glide in.

"How are you feeling Bryony?"

"Well enough to smile," she said showing pretty dimples, "but I do miss Briar. He spoils me. I'm not used to dealing with tough situations all of my own anymore."

"Ah, your boyfriend Briar," Caesar said, sharing with the audience the footage of their parting kiss.

The sweetness of young love.

"I'm sure he's watching and wishing you luck."

"Of course," Bryony simply said, "but I won't just rely on wishful thinking. Yolo and I have a plan."

The earnestness she displayed was adorable. Caesar had seen how mature she could be, away from the cameras, and was quite satisfied by her display of both vulnerability and determination.

"And I'll have to apologize to Armagnac," she added.

Caesar leaned back in surprise. "What for?"

Her dark eyes glinted. "If he jumps in front of me with a sword in the last two to defend sweet little me, I'll shove a knife in his spine."

Now that was something! The crowd was torn between laughter, appreciative whistles and sheer shock.

Poor Armagnac sighed loudly at the camera, shooting Bryony a dark glance. She gifted him with a mirthless smile. Caesar could see her hands digging in her palms. Bryony was lying through her teeth, but she had definitely made a better impression than Caesar had hoped for. He grinned.

"Ladies and gentlemen, those were the twenty four tributes for the Sixty Third Hunger Games." His voice rose to a shout. "I'm sure that if you are loud enough they will hear you!"

Had there been glass windows, they would have exploded. The noise was deafening, screams and pounding, whistles and hollering. From his vantage point, Caesar felt like a god.

* * *

"Well done, Caesar, they weren't all easy to deal with."

Caesar could not help but envy the mustached man's accent. The hard, virile ring to his voice and rolled 'r's gave his words an effortless and exotic eloquence. Maybe he should convince Livius to participate to one of his shows. He smiled at the compliment.

"I live to see Panem prosper," he replied flawlessly, "do not fret, Livius, I will handle any unfortunate events and have the delayed broadcasts edited appropriately."

"We'll be counting on your commentaries, Caesar, you've yet to disappoint." The Head Gamemaker's lips twitched. "You're right, I need to rest."

Caesar shook his hand firmly. "Enjoy yourself, you've earned it."

* * *

**AN**

**All tributes aren't great at thinking on their feet, especially since they have to hide their real emotions and stress from the Capitol. They're also understandably conflicted about giving the Capitol what it wants. I still dearly hope they were convincing and not boring to read about.**

**One last chapter after this one and the Games are on!**

**Note: I know this story is complete, but it doesn't mean I value reviews on the chapters any less. Sure, reviews won't affect posting speed or anything, but they make a real difference for me.  
**


	24. The night before the storm

**One long chapter before the Games begin, in which we peak into the 24 tributes' minds one last time.**

* * *

**D1 Armagnac Dessonges, 17**

He plucked the chords of an invisible guitar as he finished his low singing. Inspiration was a fickle thing. Why tonight of all nights? He needed a pen. And it would force the band to play one more song if he didn't make it back. He wouldn't. He was the weakest of the trained Careers and wasn't so full of himself to believe his brains would make any difference, not with people like Corsair and Eleven out there. Even Paloma had the ability to hand the Capitol his head.

An eight. He couldn't believe it. He was good at absolutely everything yet he had failed to impress the gamemakers. He'd been unremarkable at the interviews, just some cool kid passing through. Yet he'd practiced for them, in front of the mirror, since he had been seven years old. His instructors had been right. He was nothing special. He wasn't cut out for the Games.

He began to write the lyrics on paper, rabidly, holding the pencil so hard he was afraid it would snap. They'd taken him away from his family, his friends and his precious Diadem because a bunch of kids liked him, because he had some stupid fans. Why?_ Damn it, why!_ He'd thought they'd have been more focused on District One winning rather than sending him to his death.

He didn't want to go with the other Careers. He wanted to apologize to Orvis and ask him what it was like, growing up in Four. He wished he could hug the small shy girl from Five to tell her not to be afraid. He hoped that Yolo and Bryony wouldn't suffer too much. They were so young. He wondered if the uncle he had never met had had such thoughts in this same room, all those years ago. Thoughts he had never had during training.

He envied Seven for his strength. The boy had just smiled at his six in training, just like he'd laughed at everything else.

* * *

**D1 Carnelia Aspen, 18**

She sat on a chair as an avox braided her hair. Thin, tight braids, so that it would not get in the way. Carnelia had already made her impression, now it was time to be serious.

The avox was an ugly woman, maybe thirty five, with eyes too bright for an avox. Accepting instead of resigned. Carnelia wondered what she'd done. How she could think it was worth it. She hoped her interview would mean more people would go and see the Circo delle Meraviglie when Master Imp would be in the Capitol. At least her volunteering would have done more than simply humiliating Crescent.

She'd kill them all without remorse; being reaped had sealed their fate. Murder was the conscious decision to end someone's life when they could've lived on, so it wasn't murder in the Games, since they'd still all die. But she wondered about herself. Would she be nothing more than a puppet for the Capitol if she won? Would it be her childhood all over again, someone else writing out the script she had to follow?

She remembered Three's interview and grinned. If that slippery orphan had managed to visit the Capitol with people only singing her praises for it, it couldn't be so hard. Give them their sugar cube, mentor if they want you to, say how great they all are and they'll adore you. She'd leave the Capitol all the control it wanted over people's minds and lives and they'd leave her alone.

She thought of the other Careers. She'd be the first targeted by the couple from Two. Armagnac was finally realizing he was an idiot. Carnelia was sure he'd do something foolish to prove himself soon. Paloma was too decent, she'd kill but only if forced to and Ten would follow her lead. Unfortunately Corsair seemed to like the all-too-serious girl from Four. Carnelia knew she could not survive alone for long, she had to plan this well.

"Was it worth it?" She finally asked the avox.

The small smile she received said it all.

* * *

**D2 Corsair Teneber, 18**

Corsair pulled out the comb his mother had given him. He and Aurora had agreed not to see each other that night. Neither was one for cuddling and talking was dangerous. They couldn't make plans for anything other than the Games, a rather grizzly subject for a first date. Still he found himself missing her and steered his thoughts away from emotional grounds. He had to stop falling for exceptional Careers. There was no future to such fancies.

So he sat alone, cross legged on the small table, feeling rebellious since the interviews. He'd never questioned the Capitol before. Some things worked well, others less so, but it was the way things were. The average person was pathetic. A non-pathetic government was therefore already a success. The weak dying was a fact of life. The strong dying because the Capitol was too full of itself to think was an outrage. The Three boy and the girl from Nine should never have been in the Games. When a whole district benefited in an obvious way from an individual's work, their name should be removed from the glass balls. Quietly, no one had to know.

The Capitol was built on unnecessary lies: the lie that the Games were for the greater good of Panem. Because they lacked the balls to just say the Games existed because the ruling class wanted them there and had the power to enforce them. The lie that victors were heroes when instead they were allowed to survive because false hope kept people tame. Victors were nobodies. They all seemed so one dimensional that it had to be an angle. The Capitol owned them.

Corsair snorted in the empty room. The average Capitol citizen was so convinced of their own moral righteousness that Eleven had gotten to them. She had shaken them. Not that they would truly ponder her words: uncomfortable truths were best soon forgotten. As such, Capitol citizens were useless to defend the regime, they had no clue as to what the regime truly was. Too weak to stomach it.

He should have stayed in Two. Seeing the Capitol had left a bitter taste at the back of his mouth. These were their strict rulers? Fashion-conscious shallow cretins who made little of their wealth or power? Who were moved to tears when a thirteen year old girl spoke of her oh-so-wonderful boyfriend but would later leave her to die?_ Pathetic._ He now understood why the footage shown in the districts never focused on the Capitol audience.

* * *

**D2 Aurora Feather, 16**

_I'm confused, little brother._

_I don't know how far I should take this, how to separate this… thing between me and Corsair from the Games. Everything I do here, if I survive, will follow me my whole life._

She paused, her letter already four pages long. Aurora had learned more than she ever thought possible during the three training days. She'd thought she knew people and indeed, she was confident that she knew how strings were pulled in Two. But people from the other districts were so different.

_How can you kiss someone with those teeth?_

It had opened her eyes. She'd started paying attention.

Some of these tributes didn't want to survive, not really, they still held their ideals dearer. They fought the whole way. Like the ginger from Eight, leading her allies into a crusade against the 'bad guys'. Why? Why make it about fairness and humanity? The Games required an angle because they required a certain type of personality. You took the parts that fit their spirit and saved the others for when they were over. How did they even do it? If Nine accepted to die because of some healers' oath, fine, it made weird sense. But pretending, like Eight did, that tributes could be stronger than the Games, that somehow they could bend the unspoken rules. Or believing like Four, that his two allies actually cared about him. They weren't steeling themselves for what had to be done. They would have their hearts ripped out and see their rosy little world crumble before their eyes. They'd die before being dead.

And it all came back to her and Corsair. He was cold. Most people didn't exist to him. Aurora saw it in his eyes. Paloma had entered the 'exists' select group but no other Career had, except her of course. The exists would be treated with respect, killed with dignity if it came to that. The others were game. Cold was good, he wouldn't break or go crazy in the arena. He liked her and she liked him. He was well-mannered, handsome and clever and since he knew about her father, it was a little victory whenever she surprised him by showing that no, she wasn't a broken little bird, that she could flirt with a boy without fear in her eyes. The only reason she hadn't kissed him yet was to avoid being thought of as cheap. She liked the tension between them.

But it was getting dangerous. Aurora felt she could trust Corsair, that she could rely on him. Always she had had to fend for herself and now, at the worst of moments, she was tempted to let someone else be strong for her. She wished she'd been friendlier in the training center back home, that she'd met him earlier. But wishful thinking would do no good. Volunteering had been the right choice. She wondered what Archer would make of all this.

* * *

**D3 Algor Feyn, 15  
**

He held his breath for the twenty-third time until his lungs threatened to burst. His head was swimming, his vision blurred, he couldn't even picture Lemma's smile. He let the darkness take him.

He woke up at three am with a pounding head, annoyed that his improvised unconsciousness technique had not proved more efficient. He felt tired but not tired enough. He then had a crazy idea. He jumped out of the open window.

Cool wind ruffled his hair and eased his headache. He was unsurprised to hit an invisible barrier. Suicide had to be on many a tribute's mind the night before the Games. He bounced back straight into the room, landing in the middle of his bed. He grinned and jumped out again, this time at a different angle after having moved the bed a little.

He landed straight in the middle of the bed again.

He whistled, impressed at the underlying physics. There had to be captors all over the window and the bedposts, not to mention the rebound technology had to be able to deal with people of different mass and size. Just wow. He moved the mattress vertical against the wall, leaving the bed where it was. He landed in the middle of the mattress and slid to the ground.

Captors in the mattress then. He considered throwing the mattress out the window to see what would happen but then decided jumping was decidedly more fun. After the fifth jump, he realized an unamused Dante was glowering at him. He grinned at the man. His night clothes were more elaborate than Algor's mothers' gala ones.

"Couldn't you have done that earlier? I've got a schedule to keep tomorrow. Although I'm glad you're finally having fun."

Algor almost snorted at his earnest expression. Dante still had his priorities completely messed up. It was disheartening to think his interview had only gotten the escort to pat him on the head and mumble something about odds.

"Must you supervise, Dante? I'll go to bed as soon as I'm tired enough."

"Very well." Dante left.

* * *

**D3, Mercury Kernel, 17**

Mercury entered without knocking into Aster's room. He was still dressed and looking even grumpier than usual. He lifted a thin eyebrow at her. She wanted to scream. So many things she couldn't say because of those accursed cameras.

"I'm freaking out, you're cursing fate. Something interesting might just come of it if we do it together." she said with a small smile.

The man stared at her for what seemed ages.

Mercury finally handed him the cheap camera Dante had bought her. "That's the pictures of the suspended gardens. There's this guy in the orphanage who loves plants. He'll like them even if I ruin about half the pictures."

She didn't dare say Finder's names out loud. You were never too careful where the Capitol was concerned.

Aster's lips twitched, knowing Finder cared as much for plants as he did for cross-stitching. "You've been a good little tribute. Dante was ecstatic."

_Collaborator_, the girl's mind whispered. But it was the key to her survival, so she pushed her disgust aside and embraced her role. She found her eyes roaming over Aster's sharp aquiline traits. She wondered why she found them so captivating. She wanted him to hold her so badly.

She was exhausted. Her last three nights had been plagued with nightmares. The previous one a dwarf had strangled her to death for having killed Carnelia. She had been unable to move, Mesmer's ribbons had kept her tied down. Her hands had been red with blood. The night before Hawk had killed Finder before her eyes snarling about 'a life for a life'. She'd begged her to stop, screaming it wasn't her fault Algor's sister was in the games and had stepped on her electric trap. She feared what this night would bring.

"Can I spend the night with you?" She said on impulse, keeping the formulation ambiguous on purpose.

Aster's eyebrows shot up, he seemed to struggle to formulate a response. "Mercury..."

"Will you miss me less if I don't?"

"Foolish woman."

"Woman, is it?" Mercury said, looking at the floor with a small smile. A part of her was relieved he saw her like an adult.

"If it heightens your chances by making you sleep better..." Aster said with a soft sigh.

He was grinning slightly when she burst out laughing.

"How very noble," she said, gracefully closing the distance between them to peck his lips.

She stopped inches from his face. No. In this she would stay herself. She would not let the Games ruin also this part of her life. She would not throw away years of painstakingly conquered closeness for a night of comfort. She felt Aster stiffen before he embraced her tightly. Her heart skipped a beat as his warmth seeped into her. She wanted to come back to him so badly. She wondered what place she held in his heart.

"You are wiser than I am," he whispered in the crook of her neck, his eyes pools of anguish even as his lips smiled.

She wondered if she could bear being so close without kissing him. Lying half-dressed on the wide bed, they clung onto each other wordlessly. So much for pretending to be strangers in the Capitol.

* * *

**D4 Orvis Anchor and Paloma Farsee**

"Your turn."

Paloma rolled a five and chose to move two of her dolphins two squares each.

"Careful on the wing," she said with a small smile.

Orvis face was scrunched up in concentration, trying to find a pattern to the other girl's moves. He rolled a three and move his salmon back to defend one of the lesser tridents.

Paloma's grandfather's idea had been brilliant. They were totally absorbed by the board game. Paloma was winning this one but they were evenly matched. Orvis played faster; sweat pearled on the girl's forehead as she struggled not to let the ticking timer lead her into making a mistake. She won with only a tuna fish, a squid and her main trident. Orvis had saved his honor. Paloma huffed, wiping her brow.

"Struggle to the very end, didn't you..."

"You'd despise me if I didn't," Orvis laughed, "it's brilliant that we still get along with all that's going on."

"Yes." Paloma's smile faded completely. "Careful, you got a seven. They'll target you just after Mesmer. At least Corsair and the girls will for sure."

_Bugger._ "I'll keep that in mind." He raised his eyes to hers. "I guess you've got little brothers?"

"Yes… You're a bit like Quartz. Except less of an idiot." She paused "So...Lina Anchor had been a tribute. I remember her."

"My sister. What did people say about her?" Orvis' voice hardened. "Except the crap about her winning for sure."

Paloma took a moment to think. "She was a luminous person. With an unbelievable amount of charm for someone so plain of face and body. She just... People felt popular if Lina paid attention to them, even occasionally. She was a leader, the kind of person everyone wants to be."

"You found my sister plain?" Orvis said, his voice thick with emotion.

"Well she was," Paloma shot back, pretending they weren't avoiding the important issues.

"She was gorgeous!"

Paloma scoffed. "She had hardly any breasts and her skin was awful, either blotchy or sunburnt. You at least are a healthy-looking carrot-top."

"You take that back," Orvis snarled, obviously just for the sake of arguing. He was careful not to shout so as not to alert their rule-abiding escort.

"Okay then, you don't look that healthy yourself," Paloma said with a teasing smirk.

Pillows were soon flying across the room. Orvis discovered the older girl was ticklish and shamelessly exploited his advantage. He tore the biggest pillow from her grasp and fiercely attacked her with it. Paloma gave as good as she got. It was almost too easy to pretend.

They were exhausted when they went to their respective beds. Sleep came within the hour.

_So easy to pretend._

* * *

**D5 Victor Gleeb, 18**

Sleep! He needed to sleep! Sleep wouldn't come.

Victor tossed and turned, sweating despite having removed the covers. He pulled them back up, afraid he'd catch a fever.

Mesmer and Orvis. A good team. Mesmer wouldn't need much food and would be unmatched unless the Careers ambushed them. Orvis knew how to hunt the sea and Victor had learned basic survival in addition to combat. And there should be sponsors. Would it be a forest? A desert? A cold tundra with only big game to eat? A marsh? Shallow waters? Rocks and caves? A volcano? He was sure they could pull off a volcano.

He grasped his head in his hands. Sleep damn it, sleep!

He could hear loud sobs from Skye's room. _Depressing._ He felt his resolve waver. What a rotten time to remember he had a heart.

He stood up and left the small room. At least he'd be doing something useful. And he'd feel human for a while longer.

"Hey Mouse," he began, going over to the small bundle of female huddled in a corner on the floor.

* * *

**D5, Skye Blip "Mouse", 17**

"Hey, Mouse."

Great sobs were wracking her body. She let Victor put an arm around her shoulder and tried to swallow back a new wave of sadness.

"Hey, Asshole," she sniffed,"what happened to not wanting to care?"

"The quicker you shut up, the quicker I get some sleep."

"Liar, you're tense as a rock. You're nowhere near sleeping."

His arm felt good. For an instant she could pretend it was one of her brothers holding her. Victor had been awful since the beginning, but he still was just like them.

There was no way she'd be sleeping at all. Frustration bubbled in her veins.

"I work at night, I tried to adapt to daylight in the train, but it's so hard," she ranted. "Sure I'm tired but I'm supposed to go on the roofs right now, not sleep!"

"Don't do that," Victor exclaimed, startling her. He was looking at her as if he'd never seen her before.

Mouse cringed. Her voice was a pitiful croak."What?"

"Don't you see the huge advantage you have over the others? I bet your night vision is…Damn! Why didn't you say it earlier? I don't care, ditch Eight and the lovebirds. They won't last, too classic. The Careers are drilled to kill their kind. Join us. It'll be perfect. You're a huge asset." He slowed down and stared at her "And Orvis is really a nice guy."

She giggled despite herself. He was so serious.

"Unlike Eleven," she wondered. The magician was an enigma to her.

Mouse thought hard. She liked her allies; she trusted them so much more than the three guys. Except Victor had an 8 and Orvis a 7 and no matter how much she'd rather have Georgie watching her back than the green-eyed magician, he was the best non-Career and that counted for a lot.

Victor had called her Mouse. Opportunistic bastard. But she needed to maximize her chances. And that would mean three more people who wouldn't try to kill her in the bloodbath.

"I'm with you. Don't let the others know," she said, figuring she'd make her mind up later.

"Wise choice, Mouse. We'll take care of you as long as we can." Victor promised.

* * *

**D6, Hawk Dorkas, 18**

This was fan-fucking-tastic! Hawk thought without a trace of sarcasm.

She'd broken half the furniture and was intent of breaking the rest. Avoxes came in every quarter hour, took away the bits and even replaced what she'd broken. It was as if someone was enjoying this.

Suddenly breaking stuff wasn't so fun anymore.

Hawk needed a drag. Her brain just wouldn't work. She needed to paint. Who'd get her paint? Her escort? She'd probably ask to stay and chat until the sun died of boredom. Another escort then. Drake had said Five's was nice.

"Ma'am?" She said, as polite as she could, after having knocked on the door.

"It's midnight, go away."

Bitch. So much for fucking nice.

"Anyone who wouldn't mind being bothered? It's for paint," Hawk insisted.

"Try Dante from Three or Aegis from Nine," the voice said after a pause.

Okay, only half a bitch. "Thank you, Ma'am."

Three was closer and the old man was as thrilled as a newlywed.

"Yes, of course. I don't think we have a canvas of the view from your room. Take your time. If it isn't finished don't worry, we'll wait for the next painter from Six. Yes, a brilliant idea! Brilliant."

Someone needed a freaking hobby. Maybe spending too much time doing your hair did that to you. Seriously, red highlights and white hair to the ass? Freaking real hair? But Hawk had her paint. Three big whooping cheers for idiots with an artistic sense.

* * *

**D6 Drake Stanhope, 15**

He walked out of his room, not even bothering to try and settle down. He knew there were cameras everywhere, no point in pretending he was being sneaky. Enobaria's quarters weren't too hard to spot. It was the right thing to do. And there was something fascinating about the young victor.

The door was unlocked. They all were, it was weird. But then with the cameras, it made no sense to have locks.

Enobaria had her back to him, her eyes on a book. She had heard him, she had a knife in her hand.

"I wanted to apologize," he muttered, now feeling much less brave.

Hazel eyes bore into his as she spun around. She signaled him forward with a finger, her face blank.

"She doesn't love you," she finally said, no emotion in her voice.

Drake flinched. He wondered if she was warning him or just hoped to hurt him. He took a deep breath. Her words should not have come as a surprise.

"Mercury? I know. She's from Three, they learn to think logically there. But she will protect me, I'm allied with her."

"You're such a kid."

"Aren't Careers ever children?"

"Children die first in the games."

"No, they're cute, they get protected. It's the ones in between that die first."

"You mean like your little Mercury? So you did think about it," she said, mocking.

Drake scowled. She was like his mother, thinking he was stupid and blind. Maybe they were right though, but it didn't help one whit. Why had he thought Enobaria would be nice? His tone was defiant.

"I'm happy, you're not. Being a victor's visibly not what it's made out to be."

Enobaria bared her teeth. "Who says I'm not?"

The frightening sight just made Drake sad. "When do the Games end for victors," he simply asked.

Enobaria shook her head, her lips turning up in disgust, but she sounded less hostile.

"I'm very lucky to have the teeth, Six, they make my life easier, trust me."

_How?_ Why would scaring people away…?

"Big day tomorrow, go to bed," she said before he had a chance to ask.

She had opened the door for him. He left the nineteen year old in peace, more confused than ever.

* * *

**D7, Yolo Underbush, 13**

His fingertips brushed the room's walls. They were smooth but not flawless. He could feel the wooden beams behind the structure. Well metal-wood, no one used pure woods for building beams anymore. He finally found what he wanted. Two names together: Gopher 31 and Phill 47. If he was to leave a trace, it would be next to other tributes'. He took a pen from the pot on the table and began to etch his name in tiny print.

Yolo, 63, :D

He was proud of the result. No one would take that smile away from him. It was all in people's head. The Games didn't have to be a big deal, nothing did. Even the fact Bryony had a boyfriend already. Well, maybe that was a little bit of a big deal. He hoped the arena wouldn't be a forest or a marsh. He wanted to discover new types of land and hunt weird animals. He wanted a savanna, so he could see a real elephant. Or maybe something wild like the moon. His mother had once said people jumped very high on the moon because it was so small. It sounded wicked. But Yolo feared it was too much to ask, even to gamemakers who had thought of beavers.

He could hear Gamina stomp her feet as she paced. He shook his head, why did they all make their lives so complicated? Life would provide. Not sleeping would just make life's job harder.

Some cursed the reaping, fearing it more than the slow sickness that killed so many more children, but the reaping had made Liana forgive Dasheen. Life provided.

He was dreaming of singing lumberjacks as the clock chimed eleven.

* * *

**D7, Gamina Woad, 16**

The athletic brunette played with her necklace as she thought of home. Quails and pewee eggs. She'd thought death wouldn't catch her unprepared and now she was frantic for more time. She checked her watch. Twenty to twelve. Twenty minutes until her seventeenth birthday. She'd have little to celebrate this year.

It was too quiet. No dormice scurrying in the roof, no owls hooting in the distance. She wondered what Will thought of Dash. Probably that she'd taken their breakup too much in stride.

Dash.

She'd been caught unprepared. It had been so easy to succumb to his fancy phrases and radiant smiles. Just a few days together and it was already all about him. She'd always steered well away from boys like him before, afraid she'd find the one for her and die in his arms. But now they had nothing to lose.

She knew he would come soon. She found herself feeling shy about it. It wasn't like her. The Games were turning her into a thirteen year old Vera.

Her lips bloomed into a brilliant smile as the door clicked open. Having a full blown crush was actually a great feeling.

He had roses in his hand.

She giggled, lifting a hand up to her mouth. Capitolites were romantics, fancy that. The flowers smelled wonderful.

"Thank you," she said, kissing his cheek like some bashful virgin.

"You wait, fair lady. I'd have looked silly with more but do take a peek outside," Dash said.

Gamina had hated endearments from boys before, from Dash it was sweet. Totally Vera at thirteen. She gasped as she looked in the corridor. There were no less than twenty other flower arrangements.

"Yep, and I'm going pass through that door with every single one of them and you'll take them from me with a kiss."

Gamina snorted. "You're not serious."

He was. "I carried them all the way, now it's your turn."

She was surprised at how much of a laugh it turned out to be. He was such a performer.

* * *

**D8, Tesu Sumach, 17**

He had never written so much in his entire life. His autobiography, with special emphasis placed on his interactions with his sister. He'd always been so jealous of all the other people: they could make things, things that lasted. His allergy made that impossible in Eight. Not when Spindle could weave so much better than him at home. Why waste the fabric? This letter would last and Spindle would have it. He didn't want the Games to be the only thing his nieces and nephew would remember him by. Maybe Kilim had a picture of the two of them. He probably didn't.

Tesu fought to put the words on paper, fought to keep his paragraphs coherent, to string his ideas, to choose the important things to say. To say the things he wanted his little sis to know about herself, to undo the damage Raffia had done with her vicious tongue and violent temper.

It was four am when he was finished. Not a sound coming from the hallway or Georgie's room behind the wall. He hadn't seen the time go by. He took a deep breath, his vision blurring. He double checked that he hadn't written anything that would get his fat letter censored.

Cold with fear, he felt nevertheless ready to face whatever the gamekeepers had in store for him. He hoped his death wouldn't be too gruesome, or too pathetic.

* * *

**D8, Georgette "Georgie" Calico, 14**

Georgie was in a terrible mood. Her feet were blistered from the heels she'd had to wear and she doubted the 'glamour added value' as her stylist had put it, was worth that much discomfort. She knew that only Gamina among her allies had a real shot at sponsors until they proved themselves in the arena, and hated this whole travesty of compassion the interviews represented. She hated that she still wondered if Caesar's caring had been genuine. She refused to find them excuses. To top it all, her odious escort was barring her way to her door.

"Cecelia asked me to go over tomorrow's planning with you."

Georgie wasn't prepared to accept such bull tonight. "You made her give you the errand because your life is so lame you just have to ruin mine just a little more. Now move," she growled.

Ambrose's eyes flashed in warning, reminding Georgie of who she was talking to. She knew she should have groveled for forgiveness, but her pride kept her silent.

"What if I don't, my feisty little friend. What if I do this instead?"

She gasped in shock as Ambrose's hand grabbed her butt, releasing her after a tense pause. He leaned down, his lips a mere inch from her ear. The smell of expensive perfume overpowered Georgie's senses, threatening to make her faint.

"I can do anything child. Truly anything," he whispered, "and you are very lucky that I simply want to see you on your knees."

Batiste needed her. Lacie wanted her back. Her pride was nothing. Georgie bowed, tasting the sweet cleaning agent Avoxes waxed the floors with her red lips. She bit her tongue before a sarcastic 'Master Dovey' could slip out. She'd still have to deal with him even if she won. She nearly threw up at the thought.

The man seemed satisfied with his little show of power and let her rise. All this performance to tell her to see Cecelia at nine am and her stylist at eleven, so that she'd have no hair growth or menstruation problems during the Games. Apparently that was more disgusting to the audience than seeing people empty their guts out.

She lay tightly bundled in her covers, afraid her escort would show up again. She breathed in and out. She'd always worried about everything, it was her job, as provider. She'd also learned to be responsible, and worrying instead of sleeping when sleeping helped the family more was all but responsible. She imagined she was playing the flute. It was the only thing she regretted about her treacherous father, the soothing music. She let the bittersweet memory lull her into a troubled sleep.

* * *

**D9 Harrow Carter, 18**

So he'd been a mummy. It had been fun; he'd made them all laugh and cheer. Those silly people.

_Now what?_

He'd left all the smart-thinking to Mercury but he still couldn't help worrying. What if there was nowhere to hide around the Cornucopia? What if the Careers took all the supplies while they waited? What if they didn't find their way back to Rose and Drake? Still it was better than getting themselves all killed and, at worst, Rose could join any other group. They'd be stupid not to let her.

He blew his cheeks out and poked them one at a time, making silly noises. That never failed to make Teff laugh. Except there was no Teff to make laugh here, only clean, rich rooms. Harrow gripped the windowsill with all his might, making it creak. He wanted to go home.

He would kill for them, for Teff, Emmer and Megan and his Pa. For Mirna. He sure would. And that scared him something fierce. A part of him hoped he'd die among the first. He told that part to go burn in hell. Rose would die for sure. As much as he wracked his brain he found no solution. _Jarhead!_ Why hadn't she left them volunteer for her? There had to be a way.

He was miserable, he had enough. He went to see his escort.

The man was writing again. "What do you want, Harrow?"

"Some stuff to sleep."

Aegis laughed. A long real laugh. Harrow scratched his head, confused.

"Lysander owes me dinner. We all can give out sleeping pills but the tributes rarely ask. He'd bet on his girl, Paloma, asking. I bet on you. It seems you were the most practical after all."

"Why is that a big deal? None will be sleeping on a night like this," Harrow said.

"Because we are evil. We wouldn't help you," Aegis said, looking like he was ready for another good laugh, "Paloma probably appealed to her grandfather who doesn't know about the pills."

Harrow thought it over, it was a mighty good point. "Why do you help?"

Aegis paused. His smile was gone when he answered. "Fresh tributes last longer. The bloodbath is all good but it's the after that is the real Hunger Games."

Harrow felt like hitting his head against a wall. He should bleeding well know by now never to ask questions like that to Capitol people, they were all mad.

"With a glass of water. Sleep tight, Harrow."

Harrow thought he saw a flicker of compassion, of something more serious in the man's fake golden eyes. But maybe it was just wishful thinking.

* * *

**D9 Rosemary Shakra, 18**

Rosemary went under the covers partially clothed, as if she was some kind of extra modest little lady. She wasn't, but she'd nicked some plants during the training exam as she showed them bandages, cures that could be deadly poisons. For sleep. She couldn't afford to spend the whole night mooning over Harrow and biting her nails. She'd have at least three people to take care of on the next day.

She chewed on the leaves while removing her undies under the soft linens and reappeared as soon as she'd swallowed.

She hated Mirna for her words and Caesar for reminding Harrow. Now Harrow was wondering if the two of them should pretend a romance. She didn't know how she'd survive it. Pretending to just pretend to love him wasn't part of the bloody deal. She still wanted to die with some pride.

Soon she felt her eyelids go heavy, hoping her family would be alright.

* * *

**D10 Chester Fowl "Messenger", 17**

Not a sound came from Rachel's room. For some reason Chester was waiting for the moment she would break down. He felt bad she'd stayed all alone during the whole of training. Not that it would have helped his place in the Careers to eat with her at meals. It was her choice anyway.

A sneer twisted his lips. _What choice?_

He felt restless. Everything was perfect. He was part of the Careers. Paloma and him flirted but it was just fluff for TV, and they were both okay with it. She was great, the kind of girl he'd have wanted as a sister. But if she died it wouldn't shatter him. He'd go on, he had to. Perfect. _Perfect_, as long as Chester forgot he'd been reaped in the first place. That all this was eminently screwed up. That he'd still weep for the affable girl from Four.

He regretted having them call him Messenger. It made him think of home every single time. It made him realize he was behaving less and less like the Messenger everyone knew. He should've stuck with Chester. Less people knew Chester. It would've meant less pain for those who cared. Yet because it reminded him of home, it reminded him of what he had to do. It kept him strong.

* * *

**D10, Rachel Galloway, 16**

No allies. She wasn't afraid of being alone. Nor of being more paranoid because of it. The bloodbath would either kill her or not, there was no point to dwell on it. She needed one of the supply bags. She hadn't been friendly but neither had she made enemies. Barring bad luck, she would make it.

She wondered about night shifts. There was no point in running for ages. After a while the gamekeepers would put her back next to the action. Maybe she should just sleep up in an uncomfortable place where they'd not think to look. She'd slept in those before, waiting for a goat to give birth. Poor owner lived in a shack away from everything. He'd offered her his cot but it had shamed her to steal it from a sixty year old. She hoped the kids would help him get a more dignified place to live.

Rachel let her mind wander, thinking about her life. She was screwed anyway. Or doomed never to be screwed properly. She thought about Rosemary and Aurora. So achingly beautiful, both of them. Even the too muscular Seven or the more normal-pretty Three and Eight made her eyes want to linger.

What was the point if she could never love and be loved back? Well, she could still have kids. Maybe it was just a phase.

She missed the familiar stink of horses and cows, of pastures and sheep and the smell of disinfectant that always hung around her father. The sickly sweet soap scent hanging in the corridors and clinging to her clothes made her ill. She wished they'd allowed her one last phone call. She wished to hear Aries' cheerful voice. He always made her smile, just by existing.

She cried silently in the darkness.

* * *

**D11 Legacy Harvester "Mesmer", 15**

Eenee meenie miny moe

Where do all the tributes go?

Some lose hope and some count kills,

Twenty three will soon be still.

A bad rhyme. It had popped in Mesmer's head as he heard hysterical laughter from the other room. He was used to let his mind wander in the strangest ways. Dark humor had bought him more than one meal.

Typical. Live a pathetic little life and feel good about a useless moment of rebellion. Even if the people in the audience had heard her words, which Mesmer was skeptical about, they would do nothing. They'd never fought for anything, why would they fight for the districts? The districts had to fight for themselves. Sabotage the plantations. Surely when they would fear to go hungry the Capitol would compromise. They'd need people in Nine to do the same to the grain and in Ten with the cattle, but Mesmer was confident any rebellion would spread fast. But people were much too cowardly to rebel.

He lay propped on an elbow under his sheets. So who would they kill first? The Careers could wait, they'd be easy to find. He'd let others weaken them first. Seven thought he could slip unseen with tiny Twelve. They'd make good prey. But Nine and her allies were the threat. The healer wouldn't let any wound go bad and they all had decent scores. And killing Three would make Victor easier to control. It was nothing personal. He had to survive. He was used to making unsavory decisions. He had promised Zephyranth and she was the only one that mattered. He thought harder. Why did he and Victor need Orvis again? The boy was too soft.

* * *

**D11 Apple Coppicing, 18**

Apple had never felt so exhilarated in her entire life.

She'd thought she'd be an avox by now. She wasn't and Berenice had told her why in her 'I'm pretending I didn't like what you did way'. Her accent reminding Apple of little glass bells. She dearly hoped no one would ever discover that Berenice had come to see the tributes as real people.

_Why would they arrest you? You said nothing worth arresting for._

She'd first thought she'd failed but now she knew better. They couldn't arrest her because it would show she'd been right. People up top made as if it was no big deal so others wouldn't. But it was.

She laughed. A crazy laugh.

She hoped little Capitol children were asking loads of awkward questions right now. She hoped their parents had no good answers. She hoped they all felt awful and that there would be justice at last. She'd done her best. Now someone else had to stand up to them. Twenty three would die. Less than ten had had a real chance but they'd all played nice. If at the next Games fourteen tributes refused to pretend it all was fine, then she'd really have made things change.

_Her._ The nobody with a one in training. She'd made a stronger impression than the murderer from Two, with his good looks and his eleven. Maybe Liam was even proud of her back home.

She would not sleep, it was her last night on Earth anyway. She just let herself laugh.

* * *

**D12 Tindal Soot "Dash", 16**

Haymich was threatening the integrity of the windows with his howls of laughter. It was a worrying sight. Selina stood as far from him as the corridor allowed.

"Well, you made an impression, try to keep it up during the games;" the escort said tightly.

Oh how much the near-compliment must have cost her. Dash tilted his head at her with a half-smile. "I do want to live, Ma'am."

What was it about anyway?

"Complete overkill but you'll sure impress your girl." Haymich said, once he'd calmed down.

The man wasn't standing straight from the amount of liquor he'd drunk. Dash was amazed he was coherent. The tribute hadn't had a chance to talk to his 'mentor' since the train ride.

_Hold on_, impress Gamina?

He finally realized that Haymich wasn't just waving his arms but pointing at an open room. Wrapped flowers were piled on a table. Dash grinned. He'd said it as a joke, but if people wanted him to celebrate Gamina's birthday properly, who was he to complain?

"So can I bring them to her," he asked, his mood much brighter.

"All of them?" The escort said with raised eyebrows.

Dash picked up one of the gillyflowers arrangement and gallantly handed it over to Selina.

"All except this one, pretty lady."

The woman blushed beneath her red makeup. "Thank you, Dash," she said, almost grudgingly.

Hopefully now she'd make more of an effort for sponsors. Just because he'd had a five didn't mean she couldn't work on it.

He stood before Gamina's door and careful put the flower arrangements against the wall, keeping only the prettiest roses in his hands. He had an idea as how to give them all to her properly. He felt nervous, not knowing what to expect. He was afraid she'd ask him to spend the night. He wasn't sure he was ready for that and he hated to rush things. And he was so nervous about everything else he'd surely make an utter fool of himself.

* * *

**D12 Bryony Succor, 13**

Her and Yolo. Just the two of them. They were to run as far as they could as soon as the Games begun. No supplies, no nothing. Just hope. For some reason Yolo made her feel very safe. He was always so unfazed by everything.

She made herself ask no questions and sunk in the wonderful bed. The last days had been a blur. She still half-expected everything to vanish and to wake up in Twelve. Her act during the interviews had let her drained. She just couldn't imagine herself killing Armagnac, or anyone else.

How she wished Briar was there! He would've known what to do. And now he would have to find another girl to give flowers to. Her teeth ground together at the thought, so loud she feared someone would come.

She forced her mind to focus on the view. She counted the stars in the sky. So few. Why were there fewer stars above the Capitol than in Twelve? She was sure the smart boy from Three would know. She hoped the scary girl from Six would protect him well. She wished she'd had the courage to ally with him. She hadn't. She had to be selfish now.

She bundled her reaping dress under her nose, inhaling deeply. Home. She was glad she'd snatched it from the Avoxes before they could store it away. She hoped their escort would have found them sponsors. Surely she would, it would make her look good and Selina was all about that, looking good. For sure some drunk people with too much money would for bet on them for a laugh. That's what Capitol people did, no?

She shivered. Tears started leaking from under her closed eyelids. She wanted Briar so badly. Her clothes smelt like home. She wanted her mother. She rubbed her stinging eyes and inhaled sharply. The Games made her feel like such a baby. She didn't like it at all. _Pull yourself together, Bryony!_

* * *

**Next up, The Bloodbath!_  
_**


	25. Bloodbath: Ghost lights & crushed lives

**Ladies and Gentlemen, welcome to the 63rd Hunger Games!**

* * *

**D1,Carnelia, 18.**

Odd.

56

55

54

The seconds of the countdown were ringing in her ears.

To her left Twelve, his eyes locked on the Cornucopia, his legs flexed, ready to bolt.

To her right Six, turning on himself to process their surroundings, his hands twitching from stress.

Very odd.

37

36

35

Two hundred yards of hilly grass between her and the Cornucopia.

The glint of steel caught her eyes. The whip was deep inside the familiar-looking structure. Small backpacks near the edges, larger ones inside. Knives and axes readily accessible; swords and lances less so. A few boxes and other weapons littered the middle ground.

They'd kill fleeing tributes then. She made no pretense of wanting a fair fight.

23

22

21

Nothing special. So odd.

Grass mounds all around the cornucopia, then tall dark cliffs pierced by thin paths. A mountain setting maybe? Anything could be behind the rocky barrier.

11

10

Predictable.

But the arena this year was supposed to be all but predictable.

5

4

3

Carnelia shifted her balance, ready to bolt. She focused on the whip.

2

1

The world went black.

**D5, "Mouse", 17**

_Night._

Her eyes adapted instantly. A nervous smile tugged her lips and her footfalls didn't slow. The others had faltered, even stopped in shock. They were squinting, disorientated.

She could see.

A flicker, she spun towards it. Nothing. Another.

Green light?

The girl pressed herself against the Cornucopia wall, grabbing the nearest supply bag.

A threat? Were they just messing with them? A shiver crept up her spine. Shadows, eerie will-o-the-wisps. Translucent, flickering, appearing all around them, casting greenish lights on the ground and the cornucopia walls. Random flickering. False shadows. She squinted, they ruined her vision, creating movement where there was none, hiding the real threats.

Real threats. She'd stayed idle much too long.

She bolted. She almost ran into Orvis. Her scream died in her throat. He'd been kind to her. He had weapons but didn't look intent to kill her. She relaxed, of course not, they were allies. Stupid tension making her forget everything. She decided she'd go with him, since he was here already.

They shared a nervous grin. She felt suddenly stupid for not having taken weapons, just a small pack.

Orvis' grin died with a sickening crunch.

Corsair from Two. Towering over a now the now broken redhead, a morningstar in hand. Corsair, a creature of nightmares with his burning stare and the will-o-the-wisps licking his huge frame.

_I'm so dead,_ she thought dazedly.

That bastard had snapped Orvis' spine. Mouse lunged for his neck. Her nails dug into soft flesh.

**D11,Mesmer, 15**

A pint of fire oil lay on the ground, linked to a long metal chain. A lighter was strapped to it. Mesmer's eyes glittered. The gamemakers wanted to play. He'd play.

Orvis was nearly out. Victor had rushed to the deepest part of the horn, letting Mesmer cover him with his newly acquired knives. Lucky the pampered idiot had started next to him, or Victor would have lost his wits in the artificial night. Clever idea, the dark. They had been the first to reach the supplies, after the mousy Five.

Chaos. The screams had yet to begin. Mesmer thrived on chaos. His tricks went unseen in chaos. He smiled, his eyes still on Orvis. The oblivious fool had his back to Two. Mesmer spared Victor a glance. His ally was slinging a third bag over his shoulders, his eyes on the other Careers. Excellent.

Mesmer left the soft boy to his fate.

A bellow of rage caused him to jump. Victor had heard Orvis' spine crack. Sentimental fool.

One of two sentimental fools: Two snapped Five's neck in a blink. The Career was almost gentle as he put the body down, but his dark eyes were already focused on Mesmer.

"Damn it, Mouse," Victor croaked, his voice tight.

Mesmer's knife had already left his hand. Straight for Corsair's heart. A bag intercepted it. Aurora flashed Mesmer a grin, at her district partner's side in a blink.

"Let's do this another day," she said amiably, deadly blades glinting in her hands.

Mesmer nodded once. "Deal."

He jerked his head at Victor. There were just them and the Careers from Two this deep in the Cornucopia now. He wasn't about to break their truce. He decided he owed the blonde a painless death.

The two boys were moving out. Mesmer still had the fire-oil bomb in his hand and searched for a target. He had thirty more yards of chain left before he would have to throw it.

**D8, Georgie, 14**

How does one walk to her death calmly? Georgie's eyes were on Apple's serene features. The dark-skinned girl wasn't even trying to hide.

"Hold this," Tesu said, his eyes riveted on something behind Apple.

He looked half mad, Georgie felt her blood go cold. _Don't leave me alone!_ Georgie wanted to scream. It was too dark, yet all she wished for was real darkness. She wanted the ghost lights gone. She thought she saw a shadow. The shadow moved, human like and took shape. District One, with her whip. Right behind Apple, as if wondering how to kill her. Georgie's mind rebelled when she understood Tesu's intent. Of all the ways to be noble!

"No," she whispered.

His back to the her, Tesu drove his knife into Apple's head, keeping her still with his free arm. The rebel girl had tensed, fear in her wide eyes, but she didn't struggle until it was much too late. Carnelia's bellow of rage reminded Georgie to move. Survival instincts took over. She dropped everything she was holding and ran from the Cornucopia.

A strangled cry told her more than she wanted to know about Tesu's fate.

She heard a clang. Seven, taking axes. The weapon's rack had clattered to the floor. The ginger forced a burning breath into her tight lungs.

_Run, just stare at your feet and run!_

Her head struck a side of the Cornucopia in the darkness. She ignored the pain. She ran, breathing deeply. She collided with something hard and warm.

An annoyed soft curse.

Her vision blurred, her head hurt. Victor? Everything was so confusing. She felt so heavy.

She fell.

Something flared behind her closed eyelids. _Fire?_ She thought weakly. Something was moving her. She couldn't struggle.

She slipped into unconsciousness.

**D4, Paloma, 18**

What a tragic mess. The darkness helped the untrained tributes, something for which she was grateful even if she knew that the swiftest deaths would be delivered here.

Orvis. Paloma stared at his dimly lit face, tears in her eyes. A flickering light had elected to reside on his innocent features. She closed his shocked eyes, her other hand clenched over her newly acquired rapier.

She inhaled deeply. Cold. She had to be cold. She jumped at Carnelia's shout. The taller girl's weapon snaked in the air, drawing a fountain of blood from Tesu's exposed neck. Paloma swiftly averted her stinging eyes. The boy had just wanted to save his sister. And he was one of the lucky ones. His death had not been in vain.

From her vantage point, Paloma could see Twelve leaving his girl's side before Seven could grab him. The boy was rushing back in.

_No! You two were safe, stop playing the hero! Get out!_ Her words of warning never left her throat.

Twelve had a perfect angle and a knife. He could kill Carnelia. He was too fast for the leonine Career to react.

Paloma had pledged herself to the Careers. She couldn't let him murder her before her eyes. She didn't like Carnelia, Twelve had seemed like a better person, but she just couldn't just watch. In a blink, she was out of the shadows. She intercepted Twelve. Her rapier pierced liver heart and lung before she sliced her way out. He was dead before he hit the floor.

Seven's muted gasp of pain hurt her more than a knife. Paloma jumped back inside, in case an ax was thrown her way. None came. The muscled brunette had fled into the darkness.

Paloma saw Carnelia turn towards the magician and his allies. One, a girl most probably, was on the ground. It was like a very bad movie. Paloma felt detached, drained, empty. She had had enough. She went back inside to help Messenger gather the supplies. She stopped as she saw movement on the floor. Carnelia had left Tesu to agonize. She bit her clenched fist, almost drawing blood. Blood. Its smell pervaded the air.

She had to be cold.

She finished the poor boy off, making a point to thank later the other Career for leaving her the kill. Carnelia might not spot the sarcasm, but at least it would ruin the tall girl's mood. No one deserved to be proud on a day like this.

_So dark_. The green shades hardly helped her vision. They just fueled the horror. Paloma hid her tears as she stepped carefully over Orvis' corpse.

**D3, Algor, 15**

He'd lost an insane amount of time just figuring out what was happening but it seemed everyone was occupied.

He tip-toed nearer to the Cornucopia. Ten was running towards him, a small bag and a throwing ax in her hands. She was zigzagging as she ran, as if to confuse any pursuer. Even with the oppressive holograms threatening to drive him into full panic mode, he knew she was no threat, not so early in the Games.

Ten stopped abruptly in her tracks. A first knife had narrowly missed her shoulder. The gorgeous blonde, armed with supplies, had already come out.

Impossible. How could they have been so fast?

_Optima._ His sister's face appeared before his eyes as time slowed. He remembered his and Mercury's first conversation. He could choose how to die. He knew what choice to make.

He threw himself between the Career and her target.

Pain exploded in his abdome. He curled up, not wanting Optima to see his grimace or the wound. Blood flooded his mouth, silencing his screams.

He hoped Ten would know to run.

**D6, Hawk, 18**

Where the fuck was Algor!

She dropped her eyes from the carnage going on inside, but not quickly enough to be spared the sight of a whip slashing at Eight's throat. She crouched lower behind her rock, just at the edge of the Cornucopia.

"Nice of you to wait for me."

Hawk's head snapped back up. One wasn't talking to her, she was talking to Eleven and Five. Five was lifting a small body into his arms.

Why was the whiz magician hesitating? _Throw your knife, for all that's holy!_

She spotted the couple from Two right behind the other Career. _Maybe that._

"Carnelia," the blonde said in warning tones.

Eleven did something with the pot in his hand.

The landscape exploded in fire. A girlish screams pierced through the roar of flame.

Hawk opened one eye. She was alive and unhurt.

_Okay, so it had just been some freaking ball of fire in a jar. No biggie._

The two guys had disappeared, the knocked out tribute with them.

Where the fuck was Algor? She couldn't just leave alone! She turned. There he was! Bloody slowpoke!

Who cared about a bit of freakish night. She'd been waiting for him to leave. She just had a small backpack, but going deeper into the Cornucopia was madness. She waved, trying to soundlessly get his attention. Stupid Ten made him look in the wrong direction. Hawk took a deep breath, preparing herself to shout and run. She froze.

District Two. The ball of fire hadn't made her flee. _Fuck! _Hawk gaped as Algor jumped and crumpled to the ground.

_But... He'd been her ally. Her only ally._

A rush of adrenaline spiked her fury. She barreled towards the slender Career. "He was no threat, you bitch!"

Her fist collided against hard muscle as the now empty-handed blonde spun round to face her. The Career grunted in pain. Hawk tasted blood when she tried to breathe. A blade was sticking out of her chest.

**D1, Armagnac, 17**

"It's just us now. We should leave, before something happens," Armagnac said.

He'd avoided the action and didn't regret it one whit. Carnelia was holding her side. Burnt from the looks of things. He couldn't believe there had been an oil pitcher for Mesmer to find... The others' wounds were minor but their faces were grim. Armagnac hoped the whole of the Games would not take place in this hair-rising cursed darkness.

"Do you have everything," Corsair asked Messenger.

The boy nodded briskly, keeping his eyes down, as if he didn't trust himself to talk.

"Who didn't we see?" Paloma said, her voice hollow.

"I counted. I'll give you the list once we're out," Armagnac said, wishing he hadn't had to do even that much.

Carnelia was looking down at him, an expression of distaste on her features. Armagnac glared at her. He'd rather be a coward than a murderer. He now felt dirty just for having trained all these years. He couldn't believe he'd cautioned this. It had all seemed so much less... _real_ behind a TV screen.

"Let's go," Paloma said.

"Carnelia, move," Corsair ordered.

Armagnac breathed again when they were out. They headed for the cliffs, faster than any of them would've liked to admit.

* * *

**The day isn't over yet. *ominous music*  
**

**Dead: **

**D3: Algor, 15  
**

**D4: Orvis, 15  
**

**D5: Mouse, 17  
**

**D6: Hawk, 18  
**

**D8: Tesu, 17  
**

**D11: Apple, 18  
**

**D12: Dash, 16  
**

**A more 'sophisticated' list of wounded, dead and living will appear in the next chapter.**


	26. Post BB: Scavengers, Explorers & Anthem

**Games Day One, after bloodbath.**

**D9, Harrow, 18**

It was insanity. Darkness and those evil lights flashed everywhere, but especially over the corpses. As if they liked it, death. It reminded Harrow of when they'd played ghosts at night with flashlights as kiddies, with Terry and the guys. Except the ghosts were real here. They killed people.

He'd kept his eyes shut but he'd not had the gift of being deaf. The screams were everywhere. None were Rose's. He held on to that. He thought of Teff and Mirna, of Megan and Emmer. He thought of mummies and everything else, hoping to tune down the awful noise.

"Now," Mercury whispered, lying in the grass next to him. "Stuff these in!"

Harrow realized it was as quiet as death now. He crammed the two balls of grass in his ears before realizing they were for his nose. He couldn't smell a thing with them.

They sprinted to the Cornucopia. Harrow tripped over something warm. Being the jarhead he was, he had to look. Smart Kid, Mercury's district partner, was looking straight back at him. A whole side of his was head torn off. He wanted to turn but his eyes forced him to stare.

"Harrow, don't look." Mercury's voice was choked as she tugged him away from the corpse. "Think of Rose and Drake, hurry!"

They didn't hurry, not nearly enough. He set five of the bags Mercury gave him on his back and arms, making sure they couldn't fall and then grabbed the weapons. Mercury even moved the bodies. The black girl, Apple, he remembered, had fallen on a big bag. Their only big bag. They had four small ones, and a medium one and three boxes. One with wire stuff for Mercury, the other with needles, big and small and the last with stuff that looked like paint. He took all the weapons left, finding tears rolling off his eyes. He didn't need to look at the bodies: a trident and a harpoon, Lobster Guy, weighted gloves, Face Rings. He'd probably never remember their names. There were twelve arrows in a quiver but they had no feathers, and the bowstrings had been cut. Harrow almost shouted in anger. He still took them both. A cudgel, that was for him. He grasped it tight. Mercury brought him a throwing knife. It was still bloody. Harrow didn't want to know where she'd found it.

They couldn't leave fast enough.

"You okay," he whispered to the girl. She couldn't be, but he had to talk.

"I feel like I've been grave robbing," she said in husky, horrified tones. "I've put Tesu's and Hawk's shoes in my backpack. They're the closest to all of us in size, except you. They could be useful…"

He could see she was close to tearing open the bag and throwing them back away. The green light was on her face now. Her blue eyes were full of nightmares. He was glad he had just focused on the weapons as he threw away the grass in his nose.

"No, Mercury. They're just shoes. That's brave thinking," he forced himself to say.

She began sobbing quietly as they marched to where Rose had stood during the Countdown. Then they went in the exact opposite direction of the center of the Cornucopia. They reached a wall of rocks with path leading inside. They took the one closest to 'straight ahead', having been very clear with Rose and Drake about what direction to take and what signs to leave them. The false night was clearing. Harrow breathed easier.

"I've got Algor's token," Mercury whispered, her voice breaking. "They give back the bodies, I think, but they must clean them up first... Do you think they'd have thrown it away? I just…" Mercury took a deep breath." I'll give it to his sister… It's a small duck…"

It was there again, the cool confidence that had impressed both him and Rose. Even through the sobs. Harrow sighed in relief, flashing her a weak grin. "She'll be real touched I'm sure."

"I won't come back and haunt you if you win, I promise," Mercury said in a little voice.

Harrow chuckled once. "Thanks. It's grand of you." He couldn't hug her with all the stuff in his arms.

Mercury pointed to a bush. Lucky the false night was gone or they'd never have found the others in the maze. Most the leaves were picked, on only one side. The left. So they went left. A maze of rocks, leading them upwards, into paths that had no trees, just many low bushes.

After a good half hour fast walk, he saw one of the most beautiful sights in his life. Fat Rose and little Drake happy and still innocent looking, running towards them. It was almost enough to make the image of the corpses fade from his eyes.

"You did it," Drake said, a huge grin lighting his face as he took two of the bags and some weapons off Harrow.

"Followed the maimed bushes," Mercury joked.

Harrow frowned at her. She looked normal again. Her eyes were tighter than usual but only if he paid attention. He hoped she would be okay.

"You're that warm, buddy?" Harrow finally asked. The boy had no shirt on.

"I'm good. Rose's plants are borrowing it, she saw some good ones along the way," he replied, still beaming.

"Sexy," Mercury said with a wink, making him blush furiously.

They walked some more, up, always up because it was the hardest path so obviously the best. Drake sometimes climbed on the rocky walls of the maze, to see where they were going, until they found a small cave just big enough for them all.

"What's in them?" Drake asked, curious as a little kid.

They rummaged into the bags. "Basic stuff in the small ones, and a big bowl in each, maybe to store food... A small alcohol bottle, four one yard bandages bandages, a lighter and a small knife in addition to that in the medium one and… four apples," Mercury said, smiling slightly.

"I got all that except the apples. I also got a full bottle of water, a small automatic heater, a helmet and a box of meal," Rose said, emptying the big one. Harrow made her shush about the shoes and quickly put them out of sight.

"A helmet? Do they just put in random stuff that just could be useful?" Drake said, giggling at the padded head gear.

He put it on. It made him look funny. Harrow was so glad they'd found them. He grinned.

"Wow, can't hear a thing with this." Drake quickly took it back off.

"Hey, no one turns their nose up at a helmet, there are lots of rocks around. What's wrong, Rosemary?"

"Rose, just Rose, Mercury. The meat is raw and bit old. I wouldn't trust it unless your body is used to eating that stuff."

A good portion of Harrow's good mood vanished at those words.

"They gave us inedible food, in the bigger bag?" Mercury said, voicing his thoughts. But she sounded more puzzled then angry.

"We got another problem, Rose. The arrows aren't fletched and the bow strings got cut," Harrow said, showing her their weapons.

Fat Rose didn't look so upset. Harrow remembered how she said she wouldn't kill. But how could they get birds without arrows to get the feathers on the arrows? He'd seen some birds but they were high up, birds of prey too, not fat chickens. Harrow eyes went back to the meat. He suddenly felt very smart, a glowing, warm feeling, even better than pride because it kept him sharp instead of making him swell up. He wondered if Emmer always felt like that.

"What is it? Drake asked, eager upon seeing his smug grin.

"The meat isn't for us, it's to get more meat by snaring birds, and we'll get arrows that way too."

"The throwing knife is sharp enough to cut feathers but I can't put fletching with no glue Harrow."

Harrow's face fell.

"There's still the meat;" Drake said, patting Harrow's back.

"A bit more faith in the gamemakers people, come on," Mercury said with a small smile. She had the quiver upside down in one hand and a small bottle of liquid glue in the other.

Harrow cheered and went to hug Fat Rose. He felt better with her nearby.

"But it's just an apple tonight?" Drake said. At the others' mock-dark glares he lifted his hands up in surrender. "Fine, fine, I was just starting to get used to that amazing Capitol food."

Mercury hugged him with one arm, looking very proud of him for some reason.

"All right, let me show you what all the plants I picked do so you can all use them without my help," Rose said

**D10, Chester "Messenger", 17**

They'd headed towards the wrong direction, the poison coated slopes were as clear as a big neon sign. They followed the rocky wall until small paths began to appear. Trees went from sparse to uncommon but at least the light was normal again as soon as they left the grass. A maze. Chester smiled, the need to hide behind Paloma suddenly decreasing.

"Someone's happy," Carnelia cracked. She looked much less threatening with her hair up but Chester didn't let it fool him. She hadn't even given Tesu the mercy of a quick death. She was mighty pissed about that too after Paloma had pointed out she'd lost the kill point to her because of that. Twisted . That girl was twisted.

"I never get lost. You need me," he said triumphantly.

"We needed you to get _all _the bags," Corsair said, his lips set in a tight disapproving line as he towered menacingly over him.

Chester clenched his fist as he looked down. His head snapped back up, not because he was any less intimidated but because there was dried blood all over his shoes.

"I've got two big ones, three medium ones and a small one, so six. You've all got the weapons you're great at and we'll get supplies soon enough. Better leave before some other event forced us to. "

Paloma put a hand on Chester's shoulder. The boy flashed her a smile. He really wasn't used to girls being protective of him. He resisted pointing out that Corsair hadn't double-checked either. The Career had to stop pretending he was unfazed by the horror.

"We can fight the others much more easily than we can fight the arena, Corsair, better play it safe until we know what we're facing."

The muscled youth seemed to grant her point. Bless her. He wondered if they were unofficially co-leaders of the Careers or if Corsair just had the sense to listen to her.

Aurora had her hands on her hips, showing no discomfort despite the huge nasty bruise on her arm. "Better list the people we saw and what they took. You first, Gnac."

Armagnac winced. "Not Gnac."

"Gnac, Gnac, Gnac," Carnelia cackled with a big grin.

Chester smothered one of his own. Poor little Armagnac, such a strong la-di-da name and people were intent on butchering it. Ha ha. He caught himself, almost ashamed he could still find it in himself to laugh.

"Arman if you must," the stocky boy said.

Chester pitied him. Armagnac seemed to be a very decent guy and the other Careers already considered him a second rate ally. He wasn't selfless enough to try to defend him, though.

"Today, if you will!" Aurora snapped, growing impatient.

Soon it became obvious Mesmer and Victor had a shitload of good stuff and had been carrying another tribute, maybe Mouse or Georgette from the description, and that Rachel and Gamina had gotten away with their weapons and a small bag. No one had seen Yolo, Bryony, the pair from Nine or Mercury and Drake.

A pained shadow crossed Chester's face. He was the Messenger, he rarely forgot a face and never forgot a name. He could see them all flash before his eyes, the living and the dead.

"There's one hell of an advantage at not being Career-trained, you know," he said in flippant tones.

"Pray tell, Messenger," Aurora said.

"I've lost my appetite for a whole week."

He was astounded to hear Corsair chuckle dryly, the others were just looking at him with more or less narrowed eyes. Paloma cuffed him.

"Another comment like that and you'll really skip meals," she said.

Chester almost face-palmed. _Moron!_ He hadn't meant to insinuate Paloma was heartless.

"Good thing I cut the bow strings, I see," Corsair pointed out, fingering the scratches on his neck. Scratches made by small hands. Chester looked away.

"The arrows had no fletching anyway," Carnelia said before rubbing her eyes and yawning. "Wait bows? That's for Nine and Nine," she added, frowning.

"They were waiting for us to leave?" Armagnac said, now looking peeved.

"They wouldn't be so foolish as to head out ill-equipped, and we can't rule out that Three and Six weren't with them nor even Twelve and Seven. You only left small bags, Messenger, didn't you?"

Messenger squirmed under Corsair's dark stare. "Of course."

He didn't really remember. It had been so dark, especially the ground. He'd kicked a dead body at some point and escape had been so much more important.

"You're sure there wasn't anything for, say, electrical snares?" Corsair said in lethal tones.

"It's the anthem," Paloma pointed out, saving his bacon once again.

Yet despite the other pushing him around. Chester owed Corsair. He'd just had to worry about the bags, not about the people. Yes, he owed him a big chunk of sanity for sure.

The sky had gone brown as clay. They all sat down.

"Who did you get, Arman?" Carnelia said in a teasing voice.

"I got no wounds, unlike the rest of you," the boy snapped back, his eyes on Carnelia's burnt side. It was still red and raw. The tall girl had been walking stiffly since the bloodbath.

"I warned you." Aurora huffed. "Mesmer's proud. He wouldn't have gotten rid of us as long as we were his audience. Now killing us will be the best show he could give the Capitol. "

Corsair pointed to district Three's crest in the sky before Carnelia could retort, silencing the two girls. He put his arm around Aurora and whispered something in her ear. She giggled softly and nodded. Corsair begun combing her tangled but still lustrous blond hair under everyone else's dumbstruck eyes.

How did he even have a comb? They looked like an advertisement for the Games, still gorgeous despite their wounds, holding each other tenderly but warriors, both of them. Chester had never felt so inadequate. He still made Paloma sit on his lap, hoping they looked cute, but not overdoing the romance angle. It was just plain disrespectful to the families of the victims. His lips twitched when Paloma ran a comforting hand through his hair before putting her arm loosely around his shoulders.

Later he couldn't curse himself enough for having watched. Those people weren't just cruel, they were sick in the head.

**D5, Victor, 17 **

He'd wanted to run, run as far away from the madness that had taken them all, from the oppressive artificial night, from the will-o-the-wisps that had cast their phantom lights on the grizzly scenes of murder and death while keeping weapons and supplies well in the shadows.

"You'll die from water loss if you do that," Mesmer had warned him, his expression as tight as Victor had ever seen it.

So he'd forced himself to walk.

They weren't as deep into the rocky maze as Victor would have liked but he agreed that no one would spot the cave only the skinny magician had noticed. He set Georgette down, placing her head against one of the bags Mesmer had just emptied.

Three of the biggest bags were theirs. They had ten big cereal bars, a tupperware of at least two dozen bacon strips, two waterproof parkas, some water, one torch light and a grappling hook in addition to three full sets of camping supplies. He let the sight soothe him. They were well off.

"Of all people to rescue, you picked Eight?" Mesmer said, waving his hands impatiently.

"She managed to turn the wimpiest and most unfocused tributes into a respectable group that trained efficiently. She's clever like that. It was just a knockout blow, she'll be fine. She's more useful alive. Orvis and Mou.. Skye are dead."

"She's cute. You want to claw your eyes out after what just happened so instead you get all decent," Mesmer summed up.

Something in Victor snapped. _No! He wasn't using Georgie to soothe his conscience. She was a human being, damn it! She just deserved to live, they all did!_ He was red with rage as he sneered at Mesmer. The magician just met his gaze, waiting. A half dozen throwing knives glinting in his uniform.

Victor breathed in deeply. He had no quarrel with the younger boy. This was why Mesmer was his ally, he was ruthless and focused, and he needed that. He was surprised to see the dark-skinned boy sigh.

"Of course she's better to us alive, few wouldn't be, not at this stage. We just have no needles for her to use, I didn't expect we'd need any. There are the thin ropes in two of the bags but without needles the snares will be mediocre."

"There was a box lined with fabric in the Cornucopia. Still there when I left. Heavy looking."

"Then either the Careers or Nine and his allies will have it."

Victor clenched his teeth, irked that the streets magician's thought process was faster than his. He'd had years of the best education and was bested by some gifted beggar boy, it rankled.

Mesmer chuckled at his expression. "The healer was showing Six how to leave trails yesterday. Marks showing you want to be followed. On rock and wood and grass. Meaning the four of them split up. "

"And since there was no sign of any of them, some had to be waiting and grabbed everything left," Victor finished, catching on. It had been such a mess. Did nothing ever faze Mesmer?

"We could use that sewing pack."

"I can try asking Three," Victor said with a fake smile.

"I have a better idea."

Victor went cold at the shine to Mesmer's eyes, fearing the worst. He exhaled when the boy told him his plan. It was nothing too awful. Unless Mesmer had lied… but whatever Mesmer would do it would bring them closer to victory. Victor pretended to take him at face value.

He clapped his shorter ally on the back. "I'm glad you're around to make the hard decisions. Just don't kill Georgie while she's with us."

"Don't touch me. I've seen your martial arts," Mesmer said, flashing him a suspicious look. He then put his fist to his heart and bowed slightly. "My pleasure otherwise."

**D7, Yolo, 13**

They'd covered a lot of ground. Yolo's hands were scraped but nothing bad. He was more worried for the state of his shoes. He'd been climbing on the three yard high rock walls to check their general direction ever now and then and helped Bryony to climb them and back down on the other side when it saved them long winding detours. They had a good head start, Yolo was certain there had to be a wounded in at least each team, which would slow them down.

Bryony looked so small and frail. Yolo was beginning to fear she'd snap. They'd been going for hours, he could feel the strain on his muscles, and he was much more athletic than she was.

"Can you still walk?"

"I'm alright," Bryony said, a determined cast to her face.

He grinned at her. She crossed her arms. "I said I'm fine, Yolo!" But her lips were twitching.

"We're going the right way, where they want us to go. The paths are getting wider again and there are loads of places to stop and rest."

"How can you be sure it's the right way," the girl asked, panting heavily.

Because groups of people would instinctively take the bigger paths and the gamemakers wanted them all together. Something caught his attention.

"There's water in there," he said, pressing his palms against the rock. Cooler, much cooler. He moved his palms to the side. It got quickly warm again.

"A small trickle, let me go and see."

"I hate being left alone," Bryony said, an edge to her voice.

"Today is the only time I'll do it because we're still safe. I promise," Yolo said.

She hesitantly smiled back. Yolo wanted to grasp her flushed cheeks and make her make faces. She was such a little doll. But he doubted she was in the mood to laugh right now.

He could feel the rock slicing in his shoes, another day like this and he'd have to chuck them out, but they couldn't afford to follow the paths and just hope to get it right. It was easier than the trunks in the marshes, the rocks were dry. He reached the top. There wasn't just another path on the other side, there was a deep-looking cave. Yolo bit his lip, the big jeweled bears from the chariot ride coming vividly to mind. He was risking both their lives.

He decided to discuss it with Bryony. She surprised him by agreeing immediately.

"We need water. I think this maze is to lead us somewhere and they have to give us some water. We're ahead, you're an awesome climber."

Yolo felt himself flush at the praise. He grinned to cover it up. "Get on my back, I'll get you over these rocks."

"I know I'm little and light, but it's still over fifty pounds on your back, Yolo," she said warily, "besides I can climb too…"

Yolo's grin broadened. "Get on, I'm used to carrying thirty pounds of ropes just around my shoulders. I won't let us fall. And better you keep your shoes intact in the case we encounter spikes or something."

Indeed he didn't fall. He checked his shoes as he put Bryony down. No, they'd not survive another day like this.

"I'd switch but mine won't fit."

Yolo smiled. "Don't worry. I don't think there'll be so much more climbing now."

"Can we enter the cave after the anthem?"

Yolo glanced at the sky. It shouldn't be too long.

"We'll need filtering light to explore the cave anyway. We'll sleep just beyond the entrance."

**D7, Gamina, 17**

Dead, they were dead. Tesu and Mouse. Georgie was probably dead too, and Dash. Dash. He'd tried to help Tesu… Why? Tesu had been dying. Dash had been all about being gallant, except playing the hero only worked in tales.

She laughed, a weak, brittle laugh. Anger seared every fiber of her being.

Revenge was worth nothing in the Games, everyone died, a weak, reasonable voice whispered in her mind. She laughed again. _Wrong_, revenge was everything, because when you were destroyed, the only thing you could do was destroy others. She hated the Careers, she hated them with a passion. For enjoying this, for making it into a way of life.

Dash.

It wasn't his smile when he said her name, or his sophisticated turns of phrase. It wasn't the smell of his flowers or the tremble to his hand when he'd been unsure that she'd not settle with just cuddling the night before. No, none of these things came to mind now. Only his face frozen in shock as the blade pierced him like a sack of sawdust. His limbs sliding to the floor like a stringless puppet. Gamina had wanted to scream his name, instead the wind had left her and she had run away, only to remember there was nowhere to run

She'd been right, better not to love than have someone die on you. Better not to have let herself be loved. Now every little thing Dash had done for her, every little feeling, was a burning ball of ice at the pit of her stomach. She began scratching at her stomach wildly. She wanted to tear it out. She wanted the pain to stop!

She balled her hands, forcing them away, when she drew blood. No, they were watching. Merlin and Robin and Lila. She'd do it for a reason.

She'd run blindly, now she was somewhere among tall piles of rock, two thick trees growing off some of them, her legs refusing to carry her further. She emptied her supply bag with frantic haste, it had been one of closest ones to the mouth of the Cornucopia, just minimal survival gear: a thin sleeping bag, a thick rope, a plastic bag, an empty water bottle a large bowl, Gamina frowned at that but set it aside, two rocks for fire and a small flask of iodine. That and her two axes, one for throwing and the fighting one. She'd seen Ten snatch the other throwing axe before running off. Her axes. Bitch.

She looked at the things before her. Pieces of a puzzle slowly fitting together. She grasped her wooden necklace so hard she was afraid to snap it. It wasn't enough. Not the love she bore her family, not her friends. Nothing would bring her back now. The Careers would die, and she'd take down some of them. Four would come to her and never leave. She smiled at the trees, a hungry smile full of passion. They truly had no idea what she was able to do with a rope, axes and sturdy trees.

She began making knots and cutting the tree-branches in the right places. It took her half the night, but she couldn't wait for the Careers to come.

**D10 Rachel, 16**

Rachel was jogging, trying to keep her footfalls muffled in case the rocks under her feet suddenly began to resonate. She tried to go basically always in the same direction but was aware she had no idea if she was. She took a short pause to put the throwing ax in her back pack, keeping just the blowgun and the bag of darts in immediate reach. She frowned at the big bowl next to her sleeping bag, why was that in her small bag? Why would she need it so badly? To prepare food? As she started jogging again. She kept her eyes open for any kind of change in the ground's or the air's humidity. She didn't find any. She wasn't that surprised, it was only the first day after all. She'd start worrying about water in the morning. She lifted her eyes to the brown sky when the anthem began playing.

District Three's crest was the first to appear. She felt tears of rage trickle down her cheeks. It should've been her. Of all the places she'd expected someone to do something so noble, the Games had come last. Three had died for her. She'd been so careful not to learn his name.

Algor Feyn, she read in shiny letters.

His face and torso appeared in the sky, he was chewing at a pencil his dusky skin wrinkled from thought, his slightly squashed nose almost pressed to a paper. He was in uniform, it looked like the gamemakers' session. She now wondered what he'd done to get his three.

When the skies blurred to reveal a second image, she had to clasp her hand to her face to stop her screams from betraying her position. It replayed again, the scene she'd spent the whole afternoon trying to forget. The knife lodged itself in the boy's stomach, he clutched it with both hands, soundlessly hiccuping, and fell.

Rachel's eyes widened as she saw a second knife lodge itself in his ear. She hadn't seen it the first time around. He'd died quickly then. Aurora. The beautiful and deadly Aurora had killed him because of her. She squashed the feeling of guilt. She squashed the searing hot hate threatening to consume her. They would just lead her to death. Without guilt and hate, only horror was left. She moved her hair out of her way before throwing up on the ground, using the dry grass to wipe the filth away. Brilliant, now she had one less meal in her stomach. Just brilliant.

Showing them all the deaths... _What had gotten into the gamemakers?_ It was even worse like this, one after the other. At least there was no sound.

Four had his chest caved in by Two as he tried to escape the Cornucopia, like a rat killed by one blow. He fell limp.

The Five girl, dead. She had been next to Four and attacked Two, her face distorted by panic and shock. She clawed at his neck, leaving red marks. He snapped hers. She'd never stood the slightest chance.

Rachel couldn't tear her eyes away even as she started walking again, wanting to leave the smell of her own vomit behind. She chewed on some grass to create some spit and try to get her mouth cleaner.

Six, Hawk. Her huge fist was seen colliding with Aurora's upper arm. The Career's face contorted in pain as she swiftly unsheathed a short sword with her free hand and slammed it in the bigger girl's heart. Hawk had been avenging Three, she definitely had had a big heart. Rachel felt the twisted urge to clap. It took all her strength to keep her eyes on the sky.

Eight's crest came next, meaning a third district had been spared. Tesu. This name she couldn't forget. 'The Sacrifice' they'd dubbed him. With slanted eyes, a little nose, a pointed chin and shining raven hair. He looked so harmless on the portrait. Some kind of dagger-end steel whip tore his throat off, generating a fountain of blood. Rachel gagged again but forced the contents of her stomach to stay down.

_She was a vet for crying out loud!_

He writhed on the floor, gagging, his hands desperately trying to stop the flow of blood. Mercifully Four finished him off with a neat slice of her thin blade.

Rachel was hugging her backpack close. She'd been spared the sight of their death in the Cornucopia, why did she have to see them now? Nine didn't appear, neither did Ten. She spared Messenger a thought of encouragement as she clutched Aries' bracelet, he was from home.

Eleven, rebel Eleven. Very common, unnoticed until the interviews yet maybe the bravest of them all. Rachel's eyes widened in shock as she saw Tesu stab her in the temple, killing her instantly, a wild look in his eyes. The golden chain around his neck glowing green in the nightmarish fake night. She reviewed his opinion of him: he looked terrifying.

Rachel forced herself to breathe, of course, not just Careers would kill. But this was so pointless, Eleven had hardly been a threat and Rachel couldn't see Tesu kill her for the Capitol's sake. Why?

Twelve's crest interrupted her thoughts. She could see Dash, hopelessly romantic Dash, lunging at the One girl from behind, a knife in his hand. A thin sword skewered him from side to side before he reached her. He just had the time to meet Four's grim eyes before going slack.

_So the little girl's alive_, Rachel thought, trying to be positive. She brought her knees to her head and started to sob.

But the anthem wasn't finished. Rachel found herself raising her head again despite common sense screaming at her to cover her eyes.

It was the stadium in which they'd done the Chariot rides. Roughly a third of the animals were dead. With growing horror Rachel realized that for every dead tribute, half the animals pulling that district's chariot had been killed. Killed in exactly the same way as the tribute had died. She couldn't believe what she was seeing. The remaining animals, especially those right next to corpses, were pulling on their chains, desperately seeking a way out.

_Just like us_, Rachel thought, now feeling hollow and beyond tears, _just like us_.

For the first time in her life. She felt pity for the Capitol watchers. They weren't programmed to accept the deaths of poor beasts. Somebody out there wanted them shaken badly. She wondered how Caesar would manage to put the blame on the tributes for this. She couldn't even hold on to the faint hope that the smooth tongued host would fail.

* * *

**AN: I remind my faithful readers who are wondering why the hell I'm replaying deaths but most of all what those poor animals have done to deserve this, that the President has an agenda of his own. I've tried to foreshadow that in the prologue and the Chariot rides.  
**

**Unfortunately Caesar and the President's opponents will try to minimize any damage and, after establishing that it wasn't Livius' (the head gamemaker) idea, some of them will take action. The political part hasn't any impact on the tributes before the Game's end. If people are still interested, they will read about it in the post-Games chapters.**

* * *

Wounds are light (very uncomfortable, slightly impairing), medium , severe (the person has lots of trouble walking/fighting) and critical (person helpless). Minor wounds are not listed. Almost everyone has those (like the scratches Corsair has on his neck).

**Living 17/24:**

**D1, Armagnac Dessonges, 17**

**D1, Carnelia Aspen, 18**: wounded on the side (burn, medium/light)

**D2, Corsair Teneber, 18:**

Killed: Orvis (D4, during bloodbath) and "Mouse" (D5, during the bloodbath)

**D2, Aurora Feather, 16:** arm bruised (light)

Killed Algor (D3, during bloodbath) and Hawk (D6, during bloodbath)

**D3, Mercury Kernel, 17**

**D4, Paloma Farsee, 18**

Killed Dash (D12, during bloodbath) and Tesu (D8, finished him off during the bloodbath)

**D5, Victor Gleeb,18**

**D6, Drake Stanhope, 15**

**D7, Yolo Underbush, 13**

**D7, Gamina Woad, 16**

**D8, Georgie Calico, 14: **concussion (medium)

**D9, Harrow Carter, 18**

**D9, Rosemary Shakra, 18**

**D10, Chester "Messenger" Fowl, 17**

**D10, Rachel Galloway, 16**

**D11, Mesmer, 15.**

**D12, Bryony Succor, 13.**

Other info: Apple (D11) killed by Tesu (D8) during bloodbath


	27. Day 2: Vengeance, Hide and Seek

**First Night: D1, Carnelia, 18**

Carnelia's eyes opened. Rain. Rain drops fell like a thousand pellets on the cavern roof.

Aurora was moving.

Carnelia's hand tightened on her whip before she realized the other girl was only reaching for the bags, rather noisily in fact. Carnelia rose, gritting her teeth as her side burned. _Damn you, Eleven. Damn you!_ That hellion had left the Cornucopia unscathed. She hoped Yuppy had gotten drunk on Tesu's death. At least someone would be having fun then. Carnelia licked her lips as she remembered the delicious feel of metal tearing through flesh and cartilage, the rush of electricity in her limbs. She'd felt unstoppable. It had been a very primal reaction, one that would have scared her a few weeks before. Now she embraced it. She needed it to survive.

"It just started raining. I'm getting the bowls out," Aurora informed her in low curt tones.

Carnelia repressed a sharp retort. She'd noticed the bloody rain! She froze.

_Rain in the Games. Heavy rain_. That meant they'd probably not give them any other water for days. There were no streams in the rocks then, no… _Oh shoot!_

Carnelia crawled next to Aurora, seeing the six big bowls rapidly filling up. It was raining buckets. Buckets of filthy, greasy water, swiftly absorbed by the dry soil. Nothing iodine couldn't purify, but that was not the problem.

"The rocks. Greasy," Carnelia said, a mutinous expression on her face. Now they'd have no choice but stick to the winding obscure paths unless they wanted their necks broken. What could have taken a day to climb would now take maybe even a week to cover.

"At least we know it won't be too hot tomorrow or it'd dry them up."

"Thanks for the input, Gnac."

It was just so easy to annoy him. And he got under her skin, being always so helpful as if they were best buddies.

"And everyone else will stick to the paths too," Armagnac added, steadfastly ignoring her.

"Everyone but Aurora sleep until your guard. You'll need the energy," Corsair said, not even bothering to lift his head.

The others complied without a complaint. Carnelia wanted to huff that they knew how much sleep they needed. They were Careers not whiny mundanes! Soon she wouldn't have to listen to him anymore.

* * *

**Day Two.  
**

* * *

**D1, Armagnac, 17**

It was getting harder and harder to act normal. He didn't know what he was doing wrong but he seemed to be getting on their nerves. He was afraid. Four of his allies had the ability to kill him in a blink. They had all already killed at least once.

He didn't want to kill anyone. Training had been hard at first and then lots of fun, at least in the last couple of years. He'd worked out with Dys and taught the tweens who'd needed a leg-up. And Mink, because the girl had a weird kiddie crush on him, meaning anyone wanting to spar with him had to check with her first.

And then he'd seen the Bloodbath. He'd literally just stood there and watched after having grabbed his weapons. He doubted he could kill. They'd trained him to endure pain and deprivation, to focus in any situation and not to reel at the sight of blood. He'd never killed a human being. From Aurora's and Corsair's cool, he had begun to suspect training in One and Two was a very different business.

Now that the horror of the Bloodbath had faded, his mind was clearer and he took the time to look around. It was a rocky, arid maze, with a few scattered bushes and sturdy lone trees. The lowest walls were roughly his height, sharp enough to have made him hesitate had they not been slick with grease. The higher reached eight feet, ranging from a cheerful brown to an ominous black colour. He wondered how much was artificial coloring and if there was a pattern to the markings.

Paloma's voice tore him out of his musings. "Smoke!"

Armagnac scrunched his face up. "That's stupid. No-one is desperate enough to light a fire on the first day." It hadn't even been cold.

The rising sliver of smoke was less than half a mile away but who knew how long it would take to find it in the maze.

"It rained. Maybe they'd been sleeping outside," Aurora said, "it's daylight, maybe they thought it'd be invisible. Look! It's gone."

Indeed, the few puffs of smoke remaining soon dissolved in the morning air.

"It could be a trap," Armagnac stubbornly said.

"Gnac, if the Careers sit around like spooked chickens, there are no Games."

The boy didn't acknowledge Carnelia's statement, hoping she'd drop the embarrassing nickname.

It was Messenger who tipped the odds. "I vote we go. Even if it's a trap at least we're alert. We're expecting something."

"Messenger, carry the water we couldn't fit into the bottles," Corsair said.

Backpacks in tow, they hit the road in minutes.

"Do birds of prey follow human settlements? Because there are quite a few around," Corsair pointed out.

"I wouldn't count on it. Their eyesight is good enough to stay far away," Paloma replied.

Armagnac's eyes fell to the bush next to him, big flat dark green leaves. He'd not seen that type in the arena yet. Then he stopped, wracking his brain.

"Guys, we might have a problem. Paloma, you're the best with plants. Have you seen two bushes of the same species in different parts of the maze yet?"

Paloma frowned. "I don't think so. But the rain fell on them..."

"We can wash them," Armagnac said, "the rain. You miss it, no water. The plants, you miss them, no cures or food unless we double back. I don't think we can afford to double back. We should start gathering as we go."

Corsair nodded after a short pause. "Be efficient about it, Paloma. We've got ground to cover."

Paloma nodded briskly before tearing the bush out off the ground and cutting its roots. Armagnac waited for a slight acknowledgment of his clever thinking. It never came.

After an hour of quick paced walking, Messenger whispered that they'd reached the right place. The path had gotten wider, almost big enough to build a small house. The rocks all around them were smaller but stacked one on top of the other to make the maze's walls. There was a small empty backpack on the ground, next to two big trees.

"Twenty people could be hidden in those cracks," Aurora pointed out.

"Messenger, stay back with our supplies," Corsair told the long-haired boy from Ten.

He looked like a beast of burden but he never complained once.

"What if he escapes with them," Carnelia asked.

Paloma rolled her eyes."_Please_. He's not our prisoner."

Armagnac nevertheless admired Messenger's calm. He was entirely at their mercy.

There wasn't a sound from the rocks. Corsair threw one of his two bolas in the tree, disturbing a bird of prey. Still no sound.

"Falcons don't share trees with people," Carnelia said.

Armagnac seriously hoped she knew what she was talking about.

The five of them stepped forward, keeping the trees between them and the pile of rocks.

"This is pointless," Paloma said, "If someone had a bow we'd been goners long ago. Whoever it is, it's close range."

"Keep your cool, Woman," Corsair said, his eyes focused on his surroundings, "it could be Seven with her axes. Ten grabbed a blowgun before running. It could the other Seven kid with whichever weapons were left. Or even Three and an electrical trap."

They were now very close to the trees.

A throwing ax hit one of the lower tree branches. Armagnac leaped backwards in shock. He saw Corsair throw himself to the ground, taking Aurora with him.

He immediately realized why. The branch had been already hacked. A rope had been keeping it attached to the tree. Now that the severing blow had been delivered half the tree crashed on them. Armagnac balled up, his back against the hard ground. He heard Paloma scream in pain. It was as if a dozen whips tore at his skin at once, he cried out as a bigger branch snapped on his left hand. At least he now was safe, concealed among the foliage. He shakily tried to get an idea of his surroundings.

Another scream cut the air. A girl whose voice he didn't recognize.

"That's when you start begging, it wasn't a very nice thing to do," Carnelia was saying.

Armagnac pushed the branches off him. Carnelia had Seven on the ground. Her whip had ripped the muscled girl's shirt and dug a deep gash in her back.

"I hope you die alone and forgotten," Seven ground out. "And that's you too, Messenger," she screamed.

Armagnac swallowed bitter bile, forcing himself not to pay attention to the words or that once beautiful pain-creased face. Danger, he looked out for danger, just like he had been taught. There was an edge of hysteria and desperation to Seven's tone. A dangerous mix. Carnelia was now bending towards the tribute, a look of feral amusement on her face.

_What an idiot._

Dismissing the pain in his hand. Armagnac sprinted towards Seven with his sword.

Carnelia straightened upon hearing his heavy steps. "I'm warning you, Gnac!"

A shard of wood embedded itself into Carnelia's leg. She howled in fury and pain as Seven fought to twist the dagger-long piece deeper into the Career's flesh.

Armagnac hacked the girl's head off, spraying blood all over the ground. He was relieved her dark hair had covered her dying expression. _Gamina_. She'd been one of the loudest during training. Her birthday, just yesterday...

Armagnac squared his shoulders. "It would've been your face had you not stopped," he snapped at Carnelia. Killing was bad enough but playing cat and mouse was disgusting. He couldn't understand how she could enjoy any bit of it.

"I think Aurora noticed too and figured it wouldn't be so bad. I'm not going to do you same favor when the time comes, you know," the other said in soft, serious.

Armagnac blanched.

"Stop focusing on being popular and start focusing on the Games, Cretin," Carnelia said, this time loud enough for all to hear.

"You're my ally. It's our job to save each other! It's the first day," Armagnac shouted back, now really fed up.

Carnelia stood perched on one foot, pain twisting her features. "Fine, fine. Carry me someplace nice and I'll clean your sword for you."

Aurora let out a little laugh. She was crouched next to Paloma. Armagnac had completely forgotten about her. He nodded to Carnelia. Whatever, at least he wouldn't have to wipe Gamina's blood off his blade. The knowledge he had blood on his hands left him queasy. He squared his shoulders again. Was he a Career or not? He scooped the auburn haired girl up.

Paloma had an inch deep ax cut on her left thigh. He finally noticed a bloodied ax lying abandoned next to her. Why target Paloma specifically? She was the lesser threat.

"She was after you?"

"She killed her man," Aurora said. "Messenger, give us the plants and spare water we've got, and build a fire, we'll be boiling some of the roots against infection."

"Cough up the bandages too, please," Paloma asked through clenched teeth.

"How bad are each of your wounds. How bad is the pain?" Corsair said, glancing at Armagnac's torn clothes.

"About half the tears in my trousers conceal scratches that drew blood. The others are just bruises. I'm fine. But I my left thumb is definitely broken and it's distracting. I can do a cast."

"Do it. We'll wait for the supplies just above this place, where we can't be sneaked upon," Corsair told him. "Can you walk, Paloma?"

"Yes, if I get a painkiller. I need to see Carnelia's leg."

"It's right above the ankle actually," Carnelia said, grimacing as Armagnac set her down.

Paloma still spent at least a minute carefully handling the other's leg.

"Okay, it's in the base of the calf. Your right shoe will have to be made into heels so that you keep your calf contracted at all times. You should be able to walk with a makeshift cane then. You'll need sponsors eventually. I won't remove the wood, it's too dangerous."

"Heels?"

Armagnac stifled a laugh at the tall girl's put out tone.

"Flat rocks we'll tie to your shoe with bandages," Paloma said with a small smile. She turned to him and Corsair."You two are fine?"

"Scratches," Corsair said, "we weren't the target."

"Neither was I," Armagnac grumbled, cradling his hand. Everything burnt, but his thumb was killing him. He could handle it but it didn't make it any less pleasant.

Aurora sighed. "Why call attention to the fact you weren't good enough to get away."

"I was closer to the tree than you. I threw myself to the floor just like you did!"

"Arman, life is unfair. Suck it up," Paloma snapped. She smiled as Messenger handed her a sturdy branch to support herself.

"ATTENTION ALL TRIBUTES."

They all started upon hearing the head gamemaker's booming voice.

"When the cannon goes off, you are to pay attention. Any further ignoring of the overhead display will be punished. "

Armagnac's jaw dropped. They'd killed her for pity's sake, of course they hadn't looked up!

"The footage of the last death will be therefore displayed again. As the only tribute who watched until the end, Yolo Underbush of District Seven will receive two one liter bottles of supermarket water."

Armagnac felt a surge of guilt at the announcement. What must the blonde boy think of him now….

"No way," Carnelia hissed.

"We have water," Messenger said with a shrug.

"But there was a chance Seven hadn't. The rain wasn't drinkable without iodine," Paloma explained, a small smile gracing her lips. At least she looked happy for the young tribute.

"Look up," Aurora said. The statuesque beauty was openly hugging Corsair now, Armagnac wondered if any of it was for real. He forced himself to watch the false sky.

* * *

**D12, Bryony, 13**

Water. They had water. Not that bad rain water that soaked the dirt paths and made the rocks too greasy to climb. Cleaner water than she'd ever tasted. She hadn't believed Yolo when he'd said things would get better, especially ever since they could hear a waterfall behind the rocks but not find a way out to get to it. It was all sealed shut. A waterfall. Bryony had wanted to cry. But then the cannon had boomed and they'd been given water because Yolo was the bravest of them all. Even if it had been Dash, Bryony knew she would have looked away.

Bryony couldn't stop shaking. The anthem had been the most awful thing she had ever seen. It almost didn't seem real. She'd seen everyone well and healthy the day before at breakfast and now eight were dead.

There was nothing there, just rocks and dust. Rocks of many shades that made dust of uncommon colors, like white or yellow. But there was nothing to do in it. She found some coal too, little pieces, too small to transport, especially with no bag. And they had nothing to light a fire with anyway.

"Hey. Come here."

Bryony rushed to Yolo's side, ignoring the heaviness of her legs. Her muscles were begging for rest after the effort of the day before. He was pointing at a goat. Bryony grinned but her giddiness was short lived.

"That's an insane amount of food. It has to be a trap, it's easy to kill with weapons," she said, leaning closer to the rocky wall.

"But it eats plants. If we follow it, it might lead us to food. The rocks are too slippery, even for a goat."

"Of course," Bryony exclaimed, gleeful again.

And so they tracked the goat. They each had a rock in one hand, feeling safer for it. Most of the plants had to have some kind of healing use, but neither she nor Yolo would've known what to eat. They were so different from the ones at home. It was getting all spooky again, green and darker. The green reminded her of Eleven's eyes. Beautiful but scary, very scary. The goat stayed mostly on the top of the maze, they knew because the center was the highest part, where the paths were steepest. Suddenly the two children stopped.

Raspberries. A big bush full of big raspberries. Unfortunately there was a hungry goat between the raspberries and them.

"I've got it," Yolo said with a big reassuring grin. He pushed his long hair away from his face and ran towards the goat. The goat was much much uglier than the little fluffy ones that had pulled the chariot for district Eight. Something about it just wasn't right.

Bryony gasped. Something about Yolo wasn't right! The boy had walked up to the goat until it turned to face him. Then he'd dashed to the side and jumped. Jumped on the goat's back and begun smashing the screaming goat's face with the rock. The goat reared, throwing him off. The goat seemed more mad than afraid. Bryony threw her rock with all her might and then a second, before the beast could trample Yolo. She was positive she heard at least one of the goat's ribs crack. It was more than the poor animal could handle, it fled.

The now unarmed Yolo was crouched on both his feet, rubbing the side of his thigh with one hand and waving merrily at the fleeing goat with another.

"Nice shot," he said.

Bryony snorted and giggled at the same time. "You're crazy. But you're great at being crazy. Now hurry and pick them all before the goat's friends come to pick on us."

"Goats don't do that," Yolo pointed out, scrunching his nose up.

"It's the Games, Yolo. We can't know for sure. "

The blonde nodded and went to get his rock back. He looked unhurt. Bryony smiled in relief.

"Empty the bottle then give it to me, Bryony. Water is better in your body than out anyway."

She finished the last of the first bottle. She understood his plan when she saw him cut the top of the plastic bottle off with a sharp rock. They began to gather raspberries, eating a good third and filling their bottle to the brim. They had at least another full meal of raspberries in there.

"We passed another cave like ours before, let's stay there," she said.

Yolo helped her up and smiled. "Sure."

It was dark when they arrived, with the dancing lights and the cold giving them goose bumps. At least the caves were warmer.

"Yolo, we did half the top part of the maze, maybe more. We ate today. We can hide here tomorrow and eat the rest the day after. They're juicy so water won't be a problem, but there are at most one or two other bushes like that."

The second cave was very similar to the first, with the weird colors and the waterfall noise, except the waterfall was more far away. Bryony could just feel in her bones there would be very little food.

"We'll see then. The Careers always have food. They're probably getting it right now. We'll go back lower."

Bryony shivered at the idea of stealing from the Careers. The thought of walking all that distance again, probably more since they'd have to follow the paths, exhausted her. She huddled closer to Yolo.

"There's sun again, why?"

Yolo frowned, for the first time looking really puzzled. He shrugged and smiled.

"Maybe we were nice and they felt like giving us a second sunset."

Bryony smiled. She was so glad she'd gone with him.

* * *

**D8, Georgie, 14**

She'd been pretending to be more hurt than she was that morning. She'd actually woken up before dawn, but it wasn't like she was risking wasting sponsor money and she really didn't know what to think of Victor and Mesmer. She'd seen them working together to get out in one piece of the Bloodbath. She'd heard Victor's bellow of rage when Four had been killed. She knew they'd both taken care of her but that it had been Victor who had saved her.

Why? Why that despicable boy? He was clever, that was for sure, but so haughty, so dismissive of everyone else save his little elite club. Mesmer was even worse, a heartless hypocrite who'd convinced everyone, even her, that he was a poor victim. She'd heard him talk to Victor since then. He was as innocent as much as she was a gamemaker.

She wondered if it was about her, that Victor was the kind of guy to become an utter jerk whenever he wanted a girl's attention. She soon dispelled the idea. He came from money. he hardly lacked social graces. Unless he'd thought she'd make a poor ally but still found her pretty enough he'd want her attention and in the spur of the moment grabbed her because he'd thought it be a waste to let her die. A waste. She curled up instinctively as she remembered Dovey's words, her eyes blazing at the humiliation. She found her fear of him quite lessened considering the horrors she had just witnessed. She chuckled.

"I preferred when you were laying low, Eight," Mesmer said in low voice. He was perched in a tree, looking at the horizon. He'd been at it for hours, she had no clue what he was looking for.

Georgie's smile withered and died when she realized she had no idea who had survived the Bloodbath. She finally worked up the courage to ask Victor.

"Did you know they added the death sequence after the pictures at the anthem," he replied, looking oddly brittle, "and they killed the huskies, those beautiful huskies. Three of them, their necks snapped."

Georgie paled, her heart-shaped face twisted in horror. She ran a hand over the back of her head, digging into her ginger curls. Lucky, she'd actually been _lucky_ to have missed the anthem. She couldn't bring herself to feel for the poor dogs, not with everything else going on.

"Who," she asked in a little voice.

"Boys dead are Three, Four, Eight and Twelve. Girls are Five, Six and Eleven," Mesmer answered, still unmoving on his tree, not sounding very affected.

How could she ever have thought he was just an innocent boy?

The numbers registered. Tesu, Dash, Mouse. She slunk to the floor. Why? And where was Gamina now, all alone, her boyfriend dead? Georgie's allies, the team she should've braved the arena with. Good people, every single one of them. Why? And all the others. _Why?_

Victor handed her something to wipe her eyes and nose with.

"Thanks," she muttered before noticing she was using a sterilized bandage as a tissue.

"That's totally irresponsible, we'll need those," she exclaimed, causing Victor to chuckle and raise his hands in appeasement.

"Relax, we have twelve of them. Four from each pack: deluxe survival supplies. Keep it."

He looked so proud of himself for that, so cocky. Except the smile was quite real. Yes, he was very handsome. But then had been her father for a man his age. And he'd been nice too sometimes. Didn't change the fact he was rotten through and through. She didn't want to annoy Victor anymore though, he had saved her life. She gestured outside their shelter, some kind of big inwardly curved rock.

"How do we know where we're supposed to go? I mean even if the idea is to survive by stealing the others' food, they'll soon have none left. If they had any to begin with."

"Steal? Who are you and what happened to nice little Georgette?" Victor said, bringing his hands before his mouth in fake shock.

_Exaggerating much._

"Georgie, you prick, and I'm just adapting to my allies."

"Wow, if I'd just known saving people's lives would have them go frown dead-set on killing me to accommodating I'd have done it earlier."

Georgie gritted her teeth, loudly. Victor just couldn't help it. He just had to be a bastard. It should have made her happy, to see her suspicions confirmed, instead it just made her angry.

"There," Mesmer said excitedly pointing in the distance.

Victor's eyes had widened too, he started packing up the stuff.

"What?"

"What just happened, _please,_" Victor said, shaking his head minutely at her, as if she was some kind of misbehaved child he'd given up hope on.

_He saved my life. He saved my life. He saved my life. He saved my life. _Georgie chanted in her mind.

"Please, Victor, what just happened," she asked sweetly.

"The two from Nine have bows. They're probably not alone. A bird just fell out of the sky. They must have already killed others, there was no fletching to the arrows in the quiver," Victor said.

"And we're going to attack them? That's insane, they're so much better! Maybe…"

"We're not your siblings," Mesmer cut her sharply. "We do have a brain."

"My siblings have a brain!" Georgie spat. _How dare he!_

"Georgie, douse the bossing around. We made the plan without you and you're the tag along. Get over it, please," Victor said, earnest pleading in his voice.

Georgie rolled her eyes zipped her ruby lips shut with a hand. The other hand was still on her hip; they owed her an explanation.

She gasped when they finished. "They'll never fall for it!"

"They don't have to. You heard the healer's interview," Mesmer said smugly.

"She won't give a damn if it puts her district partner's life in danger, they love each other!"

"But I'm a poor, kind orphan," the boy replied, giving her an angelic smile.

Georgie's blood ran cold. He was, to everyone else he was, despite the ten in training.

"Let him, it's the Games. We don't have to be there and he just has to sneak in and back out," Victor whispered, a rope with a grappling hook attached to its end in his hand.

She tensed, not having seen him get so close. "You want me to believe he won't kill them in the process?"

"Would you rather do it?"

He didn't sound proud or cocky then, just tired and angry. Georgie shook her head.

"Your eyes are the same color, it's funny," Mesmer said, his head cocked to the side.

"They're not!" Georgie and Victor replied instantly.

"Hers are darker, mine are shinier," the boy said.

He did have shiny eyes, the prick. With everything that had happened, Georgie wondered if hers would be sad forever.

* * *

**D9, Rosemary, 18**

Four arrows out of the seven they had fletched. Four arrows to get one bloody bird.

They'd killed two hawks thanks to the meat bait and missed the other three that had dived. Two hawks, fletching for seven arrows. Four arrows on one hawk. Rosemary didn't like what basic maths was telling her. At least they had meat for two meals.

"I'll get the arrows back, Rose, we need them."

"And I need you more than them arrows. We just need to get better at fletching, make them better balanced."

"The goat's sinew feels weird to use as strings."

"Lucky we got the goat. It was going to eat all my plants like it ate all the bushes."

"Lucky you saw the meat was bad before we ate it," Drake said with a small smile.

It had been puffy and yellowish. No sane person would try to touch _that._

Rosemary smiled at them, happy they were back. They had split up to explore, before people would start hunting them.

"And talking about poison I found a small crossroads five minutes' walk away," Mercury said, "There are three bushes of nightlock crawling with some kind of spiders. The spiders appeared when I tried to strip more than one bush of berries. Obviously they want us to share with the other teams."

"These fat berries are poison?" Harrow said, affecting a pout so big Rosemary had to smile. "People won't all know that," he added.

"It appears every ten games or so. Many will, even if they don't know much about other plants."

"Why did you watch old Games?" Drake said, as taken aback as Rosemary was herself.

"Cultural heritage," the black haired girl said with a small mirthless smile.

Liar. Rosemary put her hand out. "Got enough berries to give us all?"

"Sure, I counted fourteen."

"Careful not to squish them. The juice kills as sure as the berries themselves," the shapely healer warned.

"I don't like been so close to crossroads," Harrow said, crossing his arms. Rosemary found herself nodding in agreement. Then, she knew she'd go with anything he said as long as it wasn't stupid.

"This place is nothing special. We can pack up and move. There were trees where… where the Careers were before. Here there are none at all. We can walk some more I think."

Rosemary's face tightened despite Mercury's tactful wording. Murder was wrong. Useless murder was the worst of all. The Capitol wasted lives like it wasted food and money. How with all their riches and easy lives they'd grown to be less humane than district people who had to be selfish to survive, Rosemary wondered every day.

"What about the arrows, I heard you saying you wanted them back?" Drake asked.

"Let's go were the arrows be," Rosemary said.

"Yeah. I'll carry the birdies. They ain't so fat and the meat is the worst but food is food and the claws make good weapons."

Rosemary rolled her eyes at him prodding one of the dead hawk's claws. "We got good knives, Harrow."

"Eh, you never know."

"Wait a sec," Mercury said, looking now annoyed with herself.

"What?"

"The nightlock bushes. I'll go burn them. There are winding paths enough we won't be tracked even if someone's close. It's too stupid to leave them there."

"You're sure the fumes aren't poisonous? They're sticky from the rain, it won't burn easily," Harrow intervened.

"Throw a stack of burning branches on the bushes. It should be fine," Rose said giving Mercury a lighter. "Go quick."

Mercury and Drake came back within the half-hour.

"It's fine, let's go," Drake said.

They'd been right to move. As they walked uphill, closer to the top of the maze, there were no little piles of stones anymore but big rocks of all shapes and many small snug caves.

"I want a cave with two ways out," Mercury said.

Their steps got louder and louder against the stones no matter how quiet they were being. Lucky there were goats not far, clunking their hooves and munching at everything they found. Rose gathered a few more herbs but bushes got scarce and uneaten ones even scarcer. Soon they'd be nothing but bare ground and poison goats they'd have to chase away.

And talking about weapons... Rosemary put a hand on all the pile of stuff tied to Harrow's back.

"You'll be carrying that trident and harpoon all the way?"

"Better us having it than anyone else."

"The paint might be useful but no one's going to fight with a trident they can't use."

"It has three metal coated points. I could use it to set off the snare I'll build almost two yards away. We won't need to guard the two entrances that way and we'll have an escape route," Mercury said.

"And the harpoon?" Drake asked curiously.

The girl chuckled. "Pretty much useless"

"We can break the hilt off and keep the pointy end," the boy volunteered.

"We keep everything as long as we can," Harrow said, "it'd be stupid to get whacked with a stick we left behind."

Rosemary looked around. Center of the maze was uphill, that was how they knew where they were going, but otherwise they were walking blind, turning left and right, sometimes doing circles. Now the shadows cast by the rocks were getting big. She didn't want to be there at nightfall. Nightfall? She looked at the sky, expecting to see a mid-afternoon sun. Instead it was already darkening, a sunset of the same unnatural green as the lights had been .

Drake was the second to notice. "But it's not late."

Rosemary gaped at Mercury as she pulled a weird silver watch out of her pocket.

"What, it's my token," the other girl said, somewhat defensively. "Four sixteen PM. The sun rose a little before eight o'clock this morning, which is normal for the season. Maybe they want to limit day light."

"It's going to get mighty cold eventually, even with the normal nighttime we weren't that warm this morning."

Just grand. Rosemary thought.

Mercury smiled. "We'll just cuddle."

"Uh, who needs sponsors," Drake said, pointing to a small parachute heading for them.

Harrow snatched it and read the note. He blew his cheeks out and shot Mercury an apologetic look.

"What is it?"

"It's from the Head Gamemaker. He doesn't like the watch. You can keep it if you turn it off."

A look of pure fury flashed across the girl's face before being replaced by a small, resigned smile. Rosemary wondered how much of what that girl did was angle, and how much was real. Still, she'd kept all her promises since the beginning.

"Of course," she said, pulling the gear to a halt. "I apologize, I had no idea," she said clearly, looking at the sky.

Rosemary winced as Mercury's voice resonated against the rocks. Those Capitol people had no heart. Not that it was any news.

Finally they found a good place to stop: five yards across with a small entrance and an unstable rock on the other side which lead to yet again another path on ground less noisy than before. They hadn't realized the rock was unstable before pushing it and it wasn't visible from the outside.

It was twilight now, a green twilight. Shades began to appear, flickering and dancing like in the Bloodbath.

Drake was on Harrow's shoulders, peering over the cave, down into the lower parts of the maze. "Uh, I'd say two miles and a half from the Cornucopia. Six hundred yards climb maybe."

"We walked for at least _four_ hours and almost as much yesterday," Mercury said, her shoulders drooping.

"Yeah well, it twists and turns everywhere and we were slow going," Harrow said with a good-natured shrug. He then put Drake down and grinned.

"Three."

Mercury cocked an eyebrow before realizing he was pointing at an arrow on the ground. It was on the other side of some rocks, too slippery to climb over.

"Drake, take the harpoon, we'll get it," Harrow said, keeping only the bow and quiver.

Rose touched the two arrows she'd slit between her hips and her makeshift belt. They'd cut up one of the extra sleeping bags in the morning to sew them into sashes and big square gloves. Only one arrow was still lost. She hated to see them go alone but knew they'd be in sight again very soon.

The two girls began unpacking in the cave.

"It resonates much less now," Mercury said, looking as if she was weaving those wires of hers together into some kind of spider web.

"Lucky. You got enough of those for a big trap?"

"Enough to shock badly one person that'll block an entrance. But I'm not sure if it'll be usable twice. It depends on the coaxial resonator and…" Mercury smiled at Rosemary's blank look. "The answer is yes, Rose, but probably just one."

A shout of pain cut the air. _Harrow._ Rosemary was on her feet and rushing out the cave, her bow in hand.

"It's fine, he's gone," Drake shouted. Much too loudly.

Harrow wasn't far. He was clutching his left leg, his face contorted in pain. It bloody well was not _fine_!

Rose's switched to healer mode, pushing her anguish and fury aside. "What happened," she said, carefully pulling Harrow's trousers off the wound to reveal splotchy purple bruises and ugly swelling around the knee. Swelling so fast, it had to be broken. Rose let out a hiss of anger and despair. The Games were no place to go around with a broken knee.

"It was Five. He just jumped off the rock, did some fighting kick thing on him, and as soon as we reacted, he ran away. I didn't… I…" Drake spoke very fast and looked close to tears.

"Help me to the cave, I'm okay," Harrow grunted, taking shallow breaths.

Drake was clutching the harpoon so tight his hands were white as snow. "We should move. He knows where we are, and he can climb the slippery rocks. His rope had a hook thing."

"Let them come," Rosemary said, her voice as hard as iron as she went looking for the St John's flowers she'd picked the day before. They'd cleaned up after having made bowstrings from the goat's sinew and drank their fill. There was only the water left from the six bottles. They'd have to be careful.

Mercury was waiting for them next to the supplies. Her face grim.

"Did someone come?" Drake said, shaking from worry now.

"No, but look, the sun is out again. Low in the sky, still too low for the time of day. It's violence. If we want daylight, we'll have to hurt or kill for it now," the orphan girl said.

* * *

**Wounds are either light (very uncomfortable but otherwise not really impairing), medium , severe (the person has lots of trouble walking/fighting) or critical (person helpless). Minor wounds are not listed. Almost everyone has those (like the scratches Corsair has on his neck or the ones Armagnac got today).**

**Living 16/24:**

**D1, Armagnac Dessonges, 17:** broken thumb (light)

Killed: Gamina (D7, during Day 2)

**D1, Carnelia Aspen, 18**: wounded on the ankle (medium/severe) and on the side (burn, medium/light)

**D2, Corsair Teneber, 18:**

Killed: Orvis (D4, during bloodbath) and "Mouse" (D5, during the bloodbath)

**D2, Aurora Feather, 16:** arm bruised (light)

Killed Algor (D3, during bloodbath) and Hawk (D6, during bloodbath)

**D3, Mercury Kernel, 17**

**D4, Paloma Farsee, 18:** slashed thigh (medium/severe)

Killed Dash (D12, during bloodbath) and Tesu (D8 finished him off during the bloodbath)

**D5, Victor Gleeb,18**

**D6, Drake Stanhope, 15**

**D7, Yolo Underbush, 13**

**D8, Georgie Calico, 14: **concussion (recovering, light)

**D9, Harrow Carter, 18** smashed kneecap (severe)

**D9, Rosemary Shakra, 18**

**D10, Chester "Messenger" Fowl, 17**

**D10, Rachel Galloway, 16**

**D11, Mesmer, 15**

**D12, Bryony, 13**

Other info: Apple (D11) killed by Tesu (D8) during bloodbath


	28. Day 3: Right, wrong and must be

**Second night: D2, Aurora, 16.**

Aurora's eyes opened, quickly adapting to the gloom. A shape darted away in the darkness, a bag of food in hand. Aurora turned to Messenger, who was on sentinel duty. He was not only wide awake but was following the girl -for it had looked like a girl- with his eyes, unmoving. Aurora repressed an aggravated sight.

Doubtless his district partner. Of course he wouldn't turn the hungry girl in.

Aurora stealthily went to sit next to the lanky boy, her hips swaying as she walked. He tensed despite her visible empty hands.

"You saw that," Messenger mouthed.

He didn't lower his eyes. Aurora smirked at his stubborn pride.

"We're trained to wake at the slightest odd sound, everyone is probably awake now, and half will be back asleep in a few seconds. You are lucky they were not facing the right way," she whispered back, a condescending light in her amber eyes.

"You're not angry."

Aurora couldn't make out his expression in the gloom. She folded her hands on her lap, her legs crossed in a very feminine fashion. The tributes from the outlying districts were so very clueless.

"She obviously depends on us for food. She'll be hungry again. This time you won't let her eat, because we won't allow it. At least, from the amount she took, we know she's alone."

Messenger tensed. Aurora patiently waited for him to talk. "Are you trained? To kill people? Had you already done it, before?"

Aurora smiled to herself. Ah, training. How could you explain years and years of training to a boy who had never had to worry about anything other than survival? The pressure and the promise of glory... He wouldn't understand.

"We start at eight, ever year fewer students are allowed to keep training. Fifteen in each of the four quadrants compete to volunteer each year. We kill our first animals at ten, animals we raise ourselves, raise and care for properly for a whole year. We know they're to be killed, but children are weak. We all loved our pets."

She paused, sparing a fond thought for the friendly spaniel that had brightened her days. It was like the Games. They knew not to get attached, but a little bonding was inevitable.

"Wrongdoers who earn a flogging are taken to the centers. Those who did not earn the death penalty are given to the 12-14 year olds. We learn to maim and wound, to bear the smell and screams and pleads for mercy. They are given medicine later, to heal all but the worst scars. The older trainees dispatch the others."

And so were Careers made. Aurora didn't resent her training. It had given her strength and had made her able to detach herself from her father's abuse.

"This is insane. Why go through that if you're not even sure to volunteer? What's the point?"

Aurora's smile grew wider, her ivory teeth shining in the firelight. The boy was now sitting as far as he could from her, almost on Paloma's sleeping form.

"Glory. Giving your life meaning. Fighting for a chance to live like you want to live. What else is there to live for?"

"To have a family you love, to make your family happy by being cheerful and healthy, to make yourself useful and have people say 'Wow, the district is sure a nicer place with lads like him around'."

Messenger sounded frantic, as if it was the most obvious thing in the world. Aurora shook her head. How odd a place Ten had to be. How could people feel happy about being helpless and weak?

"Poor and hungry, working yourselves to death for so little," she said scornfully, "and you don't even try to become victors? To have something better for yourselves?"

"Only one person survives out of twenty four. How many victors are there from Two? Less than twenty anyway. In over sixty games! So even training all your life isn't enough. At least I haven't gutted puppies!"

His judgmental words snuffed all of Aurora's amusement out. Her voice grew cold. "At least we don't accept measly compromises. We really fight for our own and our loved one's futures."

"So you'd rather have your siblings dead in the Games from trying, than working by your side at home, young nieces and nephews squealing in happiness whenever they see you, despite the hunger?"

Paloma was staring straight at them, a hand on Messenger's side and a knife in the other. No wonder the boy had suddenly grown a back bone. Aurora refused to admit his words had stung a deep chord. It was either riding the wave or letting yourself drown, and training was the way to stay afloat in Two. She wondered what his face would be if she told him her great-grandfather had been one of the leading rebel officers during the dark days. Something her father tried very hard to make people forget.

"Careful, Messenger, voicing unpleasant thoughts has consequences." she warned.

She rose and went back to sleep, curtsying at a suspicious Paloma. Aurora smiled softly as she closed her eyes, her back resting against Corsair's. The short-haired girl lived in a world in which hard-work and fairness would ensure you a bright future. Considering how gifted Paloma was with a blade and how objectively smart she was, it was rather tragic. She let Corsair's warmth and regular breathing soothe her, dispelling the Game's frightening mood. It was odd, having someone besides you at night. At least the unnatural shadow and dancing illusions gave way to a real night in the late evenings.

**Day Three**

**D4, Paloma, 18 **

The night had been mild for mid-fall. The artificial weather control was not to make their life too difficult just yet.

"We need to make sure no one can double back, or we'll never catch them in this maze," Armagnac said, interrupting their quiet breakfast of juice and dried fruit.

Paloma smiled despite herself. Every time the boy had an idea, he shared it with them, as if they had been teamed to work on an assignment in class. Depending on her mood it was either endearing or just sad.

"There is no food and no water. They will climb," Corsair said.

Well, figuratively... The rocks were just beginning to dry, they'd break their necks if they tried.

"Not the ones who are used to going hungry. The base of the maze is wide enough they can explore without climbing. They're more afraid of us than of going hungry for the moment."

The sandy-haired boy was persistent too. Paloma could see the flicker in Carnelia's eyes, the one that said _soon, Gnac, soon_ and that both disgusted and relieved the short-haired girl: she would not be the first to fall to that whip. Carnelia would have a sword through her the moment she tried anything.

"Then we wait a day," Corsair said, as if speaking to a slow child.

"What?" Carnelia exclaimed. "A good chunk of our sponsor money went to heal our wounds yesterday and now we just sit around? That's lame."

Paloma rubbed her leg absently, the madness in the muscular brunette's eyes etched into her memory. While her brain agreed with Corsair, she loathed to stay idle. She hoped these Games were intended to be short. the bloodbath and Seven's death had shown her all she ever wanted to see.

"Yes. They'll come to us," Aurora said, flashing a smile at Messenger

"What's that about?" Paloma asked, her lips set in a stern line upon seeing her protégé pale.

"The missing oranges and rice-biscuits bag went to his district partner during his watch. She'll come again soon and Messenger won't have to do anything, just leave it to us."

"You did _what_?" Carnelia said, her voice now harsh.

"Being compassionate, helping people from home. You know, what non Careers do even if it's not great strategy," Paloma answered, putting a supportive hand on Messenger's arm, forcing her voice not to rise. She wondered if the kind boy was aware how glad she was to have him among them. He was her line of sanity.

"She'll be just as dead next time," Corsair said tersely, raising an eyebrow at Aurora who just smiled. Paloma wondered if he'd have been as lenient with someone else. He looked almost amused. She also wondered about Aurora's stance. Why had she let Messenger get away with it?

"So what do we do," Armagnac asked.

"We are close to a mile, probably a little less, from the Cornucopia and three hundred yards up as altitude goes, you, Paloma and Messenger will see how wide this maze is without going any further up. We'll stay here," Corsair said, "you can explore around if you want, Carnelia," he added before she could complain.

They took their weapons and two days' supplies before heading out, just in case it was much bigger than expected.

"There's really no food at all," Messenger said after three hours of walking at a brisk pace, a frown marring his brow.

"People are climbing," Armagnac said, gesturing the slopes, "they'll have to stop eventually but staying down isn't the way to do it. They'll only turn back if they have to."

"Eager to kill?" Paloma said, with more malice than she knew was fair.

She pursued on a kinder tone when the boy didn't answer. "We've got food for a week but no real medicine. The plants I'm harvesting will come in useful but can't work miracles. A layout of the arena will be necessary if we don't want to walk circles forever."

They all froze when they heard faint bleating above them. _Bleating?_ The noise became louder. The Careers unsheathed their weapons. A goat's gray head appeared between the rocks above them. Armagnac threw his lance. The beast crashed to the floor, dying noiselessly. At least a couple more of the animals could be heard fleeing.

Paloma suspiciously gutted the animal, emptying the contents of its stomach. The fluids were of an unnatural yellowish color, she moved back, wrinkling her nose at the smell.

"Don't touch this, it's slow poison, they'll all die within a few days. They'll go mad too, we'll need to be careful."

"They're eating the little there is. How are people supposed to survive?" Messenger said angrily.

"Something will come up when we'll all be starving. It wouldn't be the first time. These Games will be fast." Armagnac said grimly.

"It's sunset already, one full hour earlier than yesterday, at least."

The green night.

_Just flickering lights_. There was no sun underwater, the girl from the fishing district was much less unsettled than the boys. She lead them on, making sure they didn't slow down. The terrain was already bad enough that they covered little ground.

Ten hours after their departure they finally reached the camp from the other side. Messenger grinned at her while Armagnac sighed in relief. Aurora and Corsair were chatting cozily next to the water well that had revealed itself with the supplies while Carnelia carved some spikes. She had already planted at least fifty in the ground all around the food.

"Welcome back," Corsair greeted, "you're spared guard duty tonight."

Paloma smiled, hoping her relief wasn't so obvious. "Why thank you. It's roughly a seven miles walk circle and watch out for goats, we killed a handful but they're poisoned and might attack when they'll have gone through the bushes there are. We found neither food nor water," she said.

Carnelia snorted. "Goats? Serious?"

"You won't be laughing when all the goats in the arena will make a grab for our supplies. The well will draw them out and their corpses will rot. The gamemakers don't want us to stay in one place."

"We'll move tomorrow, Armagnac, now sleep," Corsair said, with his customary impatience for their bickering.

Paloma eyes narrowed in pity as she saw him turn back to Aurora. There would only be one victor, and there was a good chance they might have to kill each other. For such hardened Careers, they had fallen into the greatest trap of the Games quite easily. She gave them a small genuine smile, at least it showed no amount of training could destroy all their humanity.

**D7, Yolo, 13**

This time it was an apricot tree. There were a dozen of the juicy fruit. Had there been other food, it had all been eaten by the goats. They'd seen a dead rat too, taken away by one of the hawks, but no other critter, living or dead, closer to the ground. They'd circled the top completely, a three and a half mile walk in total. Five large caves that delved deep underground but that contained nothing. All identical.

Not a drop of water. But plenty of water underneath them. They'd figured the maze was some kind of hollow mountain with a rock-covered top part they couldn't access. They'd tried moving rocks but had stopped when Yolo had nearly buried himself. He owed Bryony one for that.

"How long do we have?" Bryony asked, shooting a worried glance at his tattered shoes.

"I think we should start heading down, following the goats." -Or rather their poo.- "They'll get thirsty, the Careers must have water."

"They won't smell bottles," Bryony pointed out, rubbing her arms.

The wind had risen, a cold wind. The gamemakers were probably tired of seeing them warm. Yolo frowned. Would the Careers have a pond or something? There had to be a point to the goats, outside being an annoyance.

"If the goats reach the Careers all together, the chaos might give us the opportunity we need," Bryony said after a pause, "but that would be like a less dangerous bloodbath."

"That might be the idea," Yolo said.

He was keenly aware they had just rocks for weapons and that the aches in their overtaxed muscles slowed them down dangerously. Even against normal tributes it would be a big risk to take. They sat undecided, huddling close for warmth. The blond Career could throw knives at forty yards….

"Can we make shields?" Yolo wondered out loud.

Bryony snorted. "By carrying a rock? Maybe we can hide behind them and pounce, but we can't carry them."

Yolo grinned at the mental picture. "We need to move. We'll catch a cold."

A silver parachutes fell on the ground next to them.

_I suppose you'd have given it to Bryony if I'd sent only one. Stand fast and good luck, water and food are insanely expensive. Blight._

Yolo whistled merrily as two long and thick gray woolen scarves and a small sharp knife dropped out.

"Keep the knife, cut a small part of the scarf so I can make a bag for the sharper rocks," Bryony said, her cheeks flushed in happiness.

He could see she'd never really counted on sponsors. He grinned at her good humor. They started heading down, trailing the goats, wondering how much daylight they would be allowed.

**D6, Drake, 15**

"Are you going to sulk all day long? How's that good bedside manners?"

"You did not just ask Rose that," Mercury said, hiding her smile from the healer.

Drake's eyes sparkled. He knew cheekiness to be a weapon, and he was tired to see the older girl miserable. Even Mercury was skittish. She'd hadn't stopped doing things, from triple-checking her snare to dusting (dusting!) the cave, as if she was afraid to be still. Harrow's fever had broken and now he was sleeping. His knee wasn't even so swollen anymore.

"He can't not have sponsors," Rose growled.

"The paste you got to hasten the healing was sponsors. There are no bone knitting pastes for a shattered bone, it's only machines you put your leg in," Drake said, feeling terrible for them both.

"Shut up!"

Drake crossed his arms, he was just trying to help. He shot Mercury a pleading look. She put on a patronizing expression, Drake could feel a blush creeping up his neck. He didn't know what it was about that girl, but he could spend hours just watching her.

"There are times, Drake dearest, when a girl feels the overwhelming need to share the heavy load this cruel world burdens her with other poor souls," she began in a long-suffering tone.

Rose's was obviously trying to stay angry and failing. "I am not sulking, child! This is a serious situation."

"Hell yeah," Mercury said, eyes twinkling.

Rose chucked a balled sleeping bag at her. Drake allowed that Mercury had asked for it.

"Rose, don't exhaust yourself," the black-haired girl said much more seriously, setting the sleeping bag aside, "half the Games are won in our heads. We're not abandoning Harrow, we're saving our strength to better defend ourselves, the four of us. Worrying will weaken us worse than that wound did Harrow."

Rose sighed. "Harrow will walk by morning, stiff and slow but he'll walk." The thought seemed to give her strength.

Drake put on his best innocent smile. "It's not his footwork that matters when he fights with the cudgel anyway, so all's good!"

The healer chuckled, miming a swipe at him. "Right you are. I'm sorry. I should know better than being moody."

"We should all know better than being human," Mercury said with a knowing smile.

Drake smiled back. The guilt seemed to ease from Rose's face.

Harrow snored.

Rose giggled.

Mercury gave her a weird little smile that made Rose cough and look serious again. Drake frowned. Girls. They always had silent conversations…

His stomach grumbled. Their last meal had been a stringy hawk and a much juicer rabbit, early in the day. There were only four fletched arrows left and less than a handful of hawks still roamed the skies and whatever little game there still was knew to hide, they'd gotten the rabbit because the hawk had caught it and had been slowed by its prey's weight.

A pity the hawk that had caught the rat had been much faster... Drake thought mournfully, licking his lips.

They had nothing left, only water. Rose had made them pee in their half full water bottles. It tasted foul but the healer said it was healthier than drinking pure urine when the water would be finished. Something about sodium. Still they only had maybe two-three days' worth left, even with the spare pure water bottle in the big bag. Harrow had had to drink lots when healing.A squeeze on his shoulder brought him back to reality. Mercury's mouth was less than an inch from his ear.

"I dust the cave not to think, trust me, it's the best way to go."

She giggled as she moved back. Suddenly understanding, he grinned at her. The cameras, she'd warned him once, always in a very low voice, then pretending she'd said some joke. _Always pretend when it's something that might sound like you disapprove of the Games._ He had to remember that.

**D5, Victor, 18**

He'd never liked sulking girls. Georgie was no exception. Victor had no idea how to cheer her up, it would be an insult to both their intelligence to pretend there was something cheer worthy going on. At least she didn't jump back when he got within two feet of her anymore.

"If others' lives matter more to you than your own, I can kill you, you know. It'll save us the harassment of a bad-tempered mouth to feed," Mesmer said with a bright smile.

He wasn't helping. _At all. _The worst was that Victor found him funny in a dark way.

Georgie certainly didn't share that opinion.

"You are the worst person I've ever met," she accused, her face hot with fury.

"I didn't volunteer," Mesmer pointedly said, "and unlike you, I won't choose the easy way out. It's selfish to do that to your family."

Victor bolted up and grabbed Georgie by the shoulders before she could launch herself on the dark-skinned boy.

"It's the easy way out for you, murder," Georgie snarled, "none of them volunteered either! Stop enjoying this!"

_Who cared if Mesmer enjoyed it as long as he did the job for them?_

_Them_? when had it become them?

"It seems I value my life more than you do. Maybe you really should let me kill you."

Victor felt a shiver run up his spine. There was little he could do to stop Mesmer if he was indeed serious.

"Will you two children stop it," Victor ordered sharply.

Mesmer stuck his lower lip out, like a scolded toddler.

Victor grit his teeth at his attitude. "Mesmer, get out five minutes, will you?"

The boy's green eyes told him just how much he enjoyed been ordered around, but he complied with a small bow.

Victor loosened his grip on the girl. "We haven't chosen each other, stop trying to find fairness and goodness here, you'll just suffer, Georgie," he said in low tones, willing her to understand. He hated to see her so miserable.

The ginger curled up, her eyes shining with unshed tears. "I don't know if I can, Victor. It makes me so mad..."

He'd noticed. Her hold on her temper left something to be desired. He reminded himself she was just fourteen.

"Only you can shield yourself. Mesmer is what he is, it doesn't make you any less of a good person. We must survive, normal rules don't apply here."

Georgie shook her head. "They do, Victor. Remember Nine's interview? She chose the right thing to do. We just don't like the consequences of that."

Victor had nothing to reply to that. He stubbornly refused her reasoning, he had to survive, the Games weren't his doing, it wasn't his fault he'd have to kill. He felt the girl lean into him. It was confusing how she hated his guts one day and sought comfort the next. He stroked her hair gently. He was doing it all wrong, she was making his resolve crumble, he had to be ruthless and now all he could think is that was that the girl in his arms would think him a monster if he did.

He took a shaky breath. He couldn't let her opinion matter like it would had back in Five. The Games would crush him if he did.

* * *

**Living 16/24:**

**D1, Armagnac Dessonges, 17: **broken thumb (light)

killed Gamina (D7) during Day 2

**D1, Carnelia Aspen, 18**: wounded on the side (burn, medium/light) recieved sponsors for ankle wound.

**D2, Corsair Teneber, 18**

Killed: Orvis (D4, during bloodbath) and "Mouse" (D5, during the bloodbath)

**D2, Aurora Feather, 16:** paralyzing poison (medium/light)

Killed Algor (D3, during bloodbath) and Hawk (D6, during bloodbath)

**D3, Mercury Kernel, 17**

**D4, Paloma Farsee, 18:** Had sponsors for leg wound.

Killed Dash (D12, during bloodbath) and Tesu (D8 finished off during the bloodbath)

**D5, Victor Gleeb,18**

**D6, Drake Stanhope, 15**

**D7, Yolo Underbush, 13. **Had sponsors for scarves.

**D8, Georgie Calico, 14: **concussion (recovering, light)

**D9, Harrow Carter, 18** partially healed smashed kneecap (medium). Had sponsors for knee.

**D9, Rosemary Shakra, 18**

**D10, Chester "Messenger" Fowl, 17**

**D10, Rachel Galloway, 16**

**D11, Mesmer, 15.**

**D12, Bryony Succor, 13**

Other info: Apple (D11) killed by Tesu (D8) during bloodbath


	29. Day 4: deceit and goat mayhem

**Night 3**

**D5, Victor, 17**

"Stop pretending to sleep. It's making me twitchy." The young man whispered at Georgie.

"I'm not going to attack you, get over yourself and let me sleep." The girl snapped back in a low voice.

Mesmer's eyes flickered open. He shut them just as quickly. Victor tensed despite himself, how long before he became expendable in the magician's eyes? He shrugged his fear away and poked Georgie in the ribs, making her hiss.

"At least keep me company in this case, keeping watch is boring."

Georgie pursed her lips in the gloom. Victor didn't smile, for it would ruin the effect. He could just picture her wondering whether he'd just paid her a compliment. Girl minds were so easy to toy with. _Besides, watch was boring…_

"And what do you want us to discuss?" The ginger said with forced politeness.

The speed with which she sat next to him, at a respectable distance, because God forbid he think she might like him, betrayed her relief at having something to do. Victor wondered how red her pretty face would turn if she knew he found her funny. He was glad she wasn't holding her head anymore, it seemed her wound had healed well on its own.

He was growing much too fond of her, especially considering they'd had a massive argument over what was moral and what wasn't, _again_, which had put an end to their tenuous truce a few hours earlier.

"Why do you hate me? I promise not to get angry, it'd make me look immature anyway." Victor said, disguising his genuine curiosity under a mask of cockiness.

"You've done everything for it!"

"That's because you didn't listen."

Georgie's eyes flashed. "So I deserved having my whole team die?"

He'd never seen someone bare their teeth in anger before and was torn between putting his head in his hands in dismay, since that was _not_ what he'd meant, and chuckling. Her face concealed none of her feelings, he wondered how anyone could be fine with baring themselves that way. Everything he'd been taught was about hiding one's true feelings.

"No. Little that happens here is deserved. But there is no secret to having a good chance at winning, you just don't want to see it. You prefer to believe that I'm evil."

Her cheeks lost some of their flush. Georgie sighed, a scowl still in place. She'd never admit he was right. She wanted to do the right thing… Victor felt both uneasy and sorry for her.

"We do what we have to do. No matter all our planning, sometimes it's just luck… I haven't thanked you have I?" she said softly.

Victor looked down, now embarrassed. He didn't want to think about the Bloodbath.

"Don't forget it but don't mention it, it… it shouldn't have had to happen." He said in low tones, figuring no one in the Capitol would be paying close attention to them at this time of the night and that their unexciting conversation wouldn't make the 'day's cut' anyway. He felt the sudden urge to wave towards the sky and say 'hi, Mum!'.

The ginger just stared at him. She then turned away, looking at the rustling leaves in the moonlit night. A hand lightly resting on his forearm.

Stuff it.

"Hi mum!" he whispered, waving at the moon.

He superbly ignored Georgie's muted guffaws. Guffaws which stopped with a sniff, she hesitantly started waving at the moon too, mouthing names he didn't know.

They shared a look full of meaning before she slowly curled up back in her sleeping bag, her breath almost brushing his leg, a lock of curly hair falling across her freckled face.

**Day 4**

**D11, "Mesmer", 15**

The four had spent over thirty six hours rotting in their little cave. Time to play.

He threw the only knife he had taken next to the cave the wounded Nine and his allies were, before coming into sight with his hands high over his head.

"I'm unarmed now, please let me in," he said in soft tones.

He muffled voices inside. Soon Nine,_ Rosemary_, he remembered, _time to act friendly and speak names_, was pointing her bow at him.

"Strip, Mesmer, down to zit, in an obvious fashion." Three said, her eyes narrowed at him. She had another knife in her hand.

Fear, fear much more obvious in the Three girl's eyes than in the healer's. Mesmer inwardly tensed, one wrong move and he was dead. Why couldn't the brunette just stare at his face and forget he was dangerous like everyone else? Maybe he should strip sensually to screw with their minds. Unfortunately it would serve no purpose.

He stripped quickly, revealing his skinny frame, he had concealed only a water bottle, a bandage roll and four of the remaining big cereal bars in his uniform, he let them fall to the ground. From Drake's mortified face, he knew he had an ally. Three had been unwise to humiliate him, guilt would make the others less suspicious. He could see Rosemary's unease as she put the bow down.

"Okay, come, what do you want?" The healer said, while the other girl took the knife.

He pulled his clothes back on.

The cave they were in was small but large enough they weren't too cramped. There was a functioning heater in a corner but only three little bags. So they'd hidden the rest. No visible traps, so he guessed whatever electrical gizmo Three had come up with, it was protecting their supplies. He hated electronics. He knew nothing about them.

He stared a Harrow at length, guilt obvious on his face. He was thinking of what he'd say to his Zephyranth, if he came back to her in a dream, after having failed. Faking guilt was easy enough. The wound was patched up well, from the little he knew. Harrow was walking, with lots of trouble but walking, despite Victor having assured him he'd smashed his knee.

"Victor wanted to make you make mistakes, to get you to use all your plants up, he knows wounded people have to eat proper and drink more, so it'd make supplies go too. I… I hate this, it's…wrong." He dropped his voice to a shamed whisper. "And I'm… scared of staying with him too."

"So now we get Victor?" Three asked in circumspect tones.

"No!" Mesmer replied instantly. Her eyes flashed, causing him to backpedal. This wasn't going to work. He lost part of his innocent-child look.

"Okay, yes. He's got all the supplies, I just grabbed what I could. He's overconfident, we can get him."

Mesmer almost cheered as the other girl looked uncertain. He'd made her doubt, she could believe he was being selfish. He could see her mind whirling, how she figured he'd kill them but not yet. She was silent, it was obvious she'd let the others decide. It wasn't so bright of her, she should have killed him when she had the chance.

"Everyone who is no harm to my allies is welcome, and I will not kill," Rosemary said in that authoritative voice of hers, «but I won't be tying you up with rope to stop you from killing either. He knows we're here."

Interesting, she'd seemed more categorical during the interviews. Maybe Eight had been right and Harrow really was special to her.

"Did you slip away, or does he think he's got an inside ally?" Three asked.

Mesmer stared. She was annoyingly inquisitive. He had to be very careful.

"Inside ally. Except I'm not stupid enough to wait for him to rescue me when there are four of you who can reach me."

"I don't trust him." Harrow said. The big boy was looking at him disapprovingly. Probably had never deceived anyone in his whole comfortable life. So was the healer, but in a more resigned way.

"He's got a ten, he can help. Cameras show how people die. Just paint, 'He betrayed us' on one of the bandages and wave it the moment he attacks. No one will ally with him after that."

Mesmer almost gaped at Six. He'd thought he was just a straggler, a cute sponsor-catcher. Obviously he had been wrong.

The magician couldn't have the other tributes all team up to hunt him down. He could perfectly picture the annoying ginger go up to the Careers and strike a deal with them in a righteous fit of anger. Unfortunately, he could also picture the Careers agreeing.

Only Three, Mercury, looked unconvinced. _Why would they care?_ Her face said. Mesmer repressed a smile. How little did she know people.

"You just need one knife throw to kill Victor, why didn't you kill him before?" Harrow said, his cudgel tight in his hand.

Mesmer looked down, inwardly thrilled they were asking a question he had rehearsed for.

"It's not so easy to kill… And I didn't want to kill him and then have to run, alone in the dark maze, I'd rather stay with you."

From the looks on the boys' face, they understood perfectly. Weaklings.

"Alone?" Mercury asked, her face blank.

Had the girl seen?

"Leave him be, it's hard enough as it is." Rosemary said, looking tired.

"Victor saved Georgie's life. I can't make her part of it." Mesmer whispered, his eyes still downcast.

"You'll get the knife back in the morning. Mercury can keep it."

Mesmer smiled a little, his happiness unfeigned as everyone seemed to accept Harrow's decision.

Mercury let out a weak laugh as she handled Mesmer's throwing knife. "No way, I'll be hiding it in the cave across this, with our other supplies, while Mesmer's not looking. Can't be too careful…"

Mesmer eyes glittered, so the supplies were there. Good.

"Mercury…" Drake said, shaking his head.

"Never. Too. Careful." The sharp-eyed girl stressed.

She would still be dead by morning.

"You can have the cereal bars. I'm a beggar, despite all my fancy titles, our kind only starts worrying about food after the first week." Mesmer said, speaking the truth.

They all shot him compassionate glances, except Mercury, who rolled her eyes. Mesmer felt the first stirrings of hate at the pit of his stomach.

"Thank you, glad you stole the bars, great way to buy us, Mesmer. Better than stealing a bed roll…" The black-haired girl said with a smile, earning herself huffs from the three others, although Drake seemed unable to be angry at her. Stupid lovesick kid.

"What's he done not to deserve your being friendly? What's so different about him?" Rosemary said, looking stern now.

Mercury sighed after a pause. "Sorry, Mesmer, I'm just tense. You as an ally is a huge advantage here. Thanks for the food."

Mesmer ducked his head, knowing her sincere-sounding words didn't mean that she believed him their ally. It didn't matter. He'd spotted a flash of black in one of the crude belt pouches the muscled peasant had. Looking more closely, he saw they all had them, so easy to pick. Nightlock. The little berries killed his favorite tribute the first time he'd watched the Games. He'd been six, hidden behind a window. He'd been too foolish not to get emotionally involved back then.

He changed his plan. This one would be delightfully elegant.

**D3, Mercury, 17**

She'd been uneasy ever since Mesmer had shown up. The magician would have told them anything to stay. He'd left an ally with a huge amount of supplies to come to them, almost empty handed. Why? To kill Victor and keep them close? Neither of them could consent to a foolish attack against the Careers. If Mesmer didn't need them either for supplies or fighting power, he only needed them dead. Icy dread filled Mercury's veins.

She stole a glimpse at the stunning magician. Maybe she was being unfair, maybe the dark-skinned boy genuinely craved company. Their alliance did offer him a relative safety. He was only fifteen despite everything. People were full of contradictions and maybe Victor had indeed acted threateningly. Who knew how the aristocratic boy reacted under stress?

She suspected Mesmer had the means and the will to murder them in cold blood. He'd been one of the few she hadn't talked to at the training center because Aster had somberly decreed the boy was a killer as soon as he'd seen the reapings.

A pained sigh escaped her lips. How she missed the man. His terse remarks always revealed hidden truths and she desperately wished to hear his silken voice give her confidence.

"I'll go store this stuff with the rest." She said, pointing to the small backpack in which she'd put the remaining paint and the hawk claws that had been lying around. The others had the sense to simply nod, although Rosemary's eyes were full of meaning.

So what if she'd lied and there was nothing in the half collapsed cave near theirs except pebbles? If Mesmer went looking, they wouldn't risk their supplies, which were safe behind an unstable stone. She ripped the bottom of the backpack open with the knife and filled it with some of the pebbles, so that they'd fall out noisily if he stole it. They'd sacrifice the paint to him, but it was hardly a crippling loss.

Mesmer had lied. Lied about saying he'd taken what he could, because it was an insult to their intelligence to make them believe the magician had only been able to grab so little, lied probably about many things. Then again, so had she. She wiped her sweaty palms on her clothes.

Mercury knew she couldn't stay awake the whole night. She'd never convince them not to let Mesmer take a watch either. Not unless she really objected, and if she did, she didn't she would be the first to fall under the magician's knives. Even her hand-to-hand combat skills would not save her against a well thrown knife.

Rosemary gave Mesmer the dawn watch, two watches after Mercury's. She'd have to wake on her own. She never would, not after the poor sleep she'd had the days before. She decided she could trust him, just this night, he could use them to get Victor anyway.

_Get Victor._ It sounded so simple for something so vile.

She hoped she hadn't made a huge mistake.

**D10, Rachel, 16**

She stopped in her tracks and pressed her back against the still greasy rocks. This time, it wasn't just the wind making her paranoid.

The two thirteen year olds.

It was barely past midday and the fake night was upon them again, creating shadows where there were none and casting faint eerie lights at random on the stones. Soon Rachel wondered if they'd see the sun at all. No one had died in days, maybe the Gamemakers were growing bored.

She made herself known, they were too distracted for killers on the hunt. They didn't look too scared as they saw her. Maybe they thought that being from the districts she'd not be a killer. She fingered her blowgun, almost upset at the thought. Everyone watching probably thought she was a goner.

She'd made a decent paralyzing paste from roots, but it would just slow her targets, she still needed real poison but she lacked the water to boil the leaves she had found.

"The Careers are packing, but I'm not sure they're aware the goats are less than ten minutes away from them, there are twenty-one of them. Drooling and limping, but crazed." She said, her throat raw from lack of water. She was furious at seeing animals treated that way but she was unsurprised, considering the way the Capitol treated people. She couldn't keep her voice from shaking with anger. She couldn't even find it in her to be sarcastic anymore since the Bloodbath. It scared her to death, as if she'd lost a big part of herself already.

She'd been trailing the six for days now. They'd spend the day before and the night making rocks collapse, a whole part of the lower maze was inaccessible now. Hard work, Rachel had been almost impressed, it seemed they weren't only good at killing.

"Rachel, by the way."

They exchanged names.

"The night is our ally here." Bryony whispered.

"We need to time this well." Yolo said, his hair tied back with blades of grass. "Where do we meet again just in case?"

"I won't be following you after this, but I suggest you two go where the rocks are low, on the other side of the well. I've walked those paths, they're as narrow as you get and none are dead ends, unlike other places…" Rachel suggested.

"Thanks. Let's go." Yolo said, flashing them a grin. Bryony looked much less confident but every bit as determined.

It was heartbreaking.

**D2, Corsair, 18**

Carnelia cursed. "Let's play butchers." She said with a half-hearted cackle.

Corsair could understand her lack of enthusiasm, the flickering will-o-the-wisps were exhausting, fooling their sight and concealing real threats. The wind had risen louder in the late morning, moaning in their eyes, sapping their resolve. They had limited other tribute's escape routes by blocking over two dozen paths, now it was time to hunt them down.

After the goats.

Corsair tensed. Foam was trailing down their unhealthy fur. Their step was uneven as they zigzagged in the darkness towards them at a steady pace, their wild eyes fixed on their prize.

_Just sick goats_. He willed himself to ignore the chill that permeated his bones. _Just a trick of the light._

"Can't we just leave?" Armagnac said, his voice betraying his unease. "They just want the water."

The whip snaked for his throat before any could move. He fell to the ground gurgling for breath, his hands around his neck. Carnelia let out a wolf like howl, causing the goats to break into a panicked run.

They were charging towards them.

Corsair grit his teeth as Carnelia whipped his all-too-predictably aimed bola to the side. She disappeared in the darkness. They hadn't noticed her sling two full supply bags on her back and now it was too late to chase her. She had spent too many hours walking the surrounding paths, he should've paid more attention.

He bolted out of the way of a charging goat, his morning star in hand. He barely winced as he crushed the animals' bones to clear himself and the others a path.

"Duck!" Paloma shouted.

A rock struck the too slow Messenger's forehead, he stopped dead, stunned, letting a bag fall to the ground as blood obscured his vision.

The green lights revealed the boy from Seven, quick as a rabbit, scrambling away with the pack, the Twelve girl on his heels. Her second pointy rock hit Corsair's muscled shoulder. He shrugged it off. The flickering shades weren't bothering him this time. An easy shot.

"Ow!" Aurora exclaimed softly from next to him. She removed a dart her neck.

Corsair instantly forgot about the two, not bothering with his bola, he grabbed one of the pikes on the ground and hurled it at the shadow moving behind his district partner, he was rewarded with a scream of pain. He narrowed his eyes in rage, the wound wasn't crippling, Ten escaped, saved by the accursed night.

Ten years of training and he was fighting like an amateur. Fury and frustration were beginning to cloud his judgment. He calmed himself with a deep breath.

"Catch them! I'm fine!" Aurora spat. She seemed dazed but jogged after them at a decent pace, coughing as the stench of a skewered goat reached them. Idiot animal had run into a pike…

"No don't go there!" Ten again. She was only almost in range. With only one set of bolas left, he took his time to aim.

A tall shape caught his eyes.

Carnelia. She hadn't left.

An agonized scream cut the air. "Bryony!"

Ten grabbed the panicked Seven and his bag and rushed into the darkness forcing the boy to follow. She was strong... Twelve was clutching her sliced open stomach, an expression of surprise on her face.

The cannon sounded.

The leonine girl slashed Paloma who jumped back, hissing in pain as jagged red line appeared on her arm.

"Not twice!" Corsair muttered, letting the bolas fly. The wrapped themselves around a fleeing Carnelia's ankles. Corsair smirked in cool satisfaction. She fell, her free hand grasping her ankle. A knife lodged itself in her wounded leg, tearing a loud scream from the turncoat.

Paloma failed to take advantage of their target's weakness. Corsair exhaled in frustration.

Aurora cursed as the second knife hit the rocks. She was holding her head with her other arm, blinking rapidly as if to clear her vision. Corsair steadied her, relieved that she was fine.

Pushing herself upwards with a hand and tearing the bolas off her leg, Carnelia hopped away, her whole face twisted in pain but her figure quickly disappearing in the maze. Unsurprising for someone trained for the Games, a thought that only fueled Corsair's seething.

"No point in running now. We'll just get lost. We'll just follow the blood in the daylight, she won't go far." Messenger said, blood running down his face.

"Two kills, she'll get sponsors." Corsair said through clenched teeth. At least she hadn't thought to take the bolas. He recovered his weapons.

"We need her supplies, she'll still need to stop." Paloma said, rubbing her eyes. They were full of dirt, no wonder she had been slowed. "Sorry I missed the opening."

Corsair decided to let the matter go. Berating Paloma would serve no purpose, he had hardly been better.

They had only two bags left. Unacceptable. They would have to forage firewood.

"Is it me, or is it brighter?"

Corsair lifted his eyes from the supplies. Aurora was right.

"Killing people gives us light…" He chuckled, a mirthless sound. Of course it would. "Let's wait for the sun to rise properly then."

"How are you feeling, Aurora?" Paloma asked, gently pressing her fingers around the swollen part of the blonde's neck.

"Woozy. Not sick or anything. Dizzy, heavy. Thirsty."

"Let's wait an hour, then if it hasn't changed, you'll drink."

The girl from Four looked a bit at a loss. Corsair frowned in annoyance at her useless diagnostic but had nothing better to suggest.

"What about Armagnac?" Messenger asked in a small voice.

"Take his sword and lance if you want them, he had nothing else of value." Corsair said.

The lanky youth met his gaze. Corsair had no patience for weakness, his dark eyes were as hard as ice as he stared back. Messenger went to retrieve the sword, ashen faced when he returned.

They'd been taken by surprise. Nobody would ever succeed in making a fool out of him again. He'd underestimate how tired he was and vowed Carnelia would not make it to the last eight, she didn't deserve the honor.

**D7,Yolo,13**

"Let me go!" he hissed, struggling inefficiently in Rachel's iron grip. Bryony's scream was still ringing in his ears. He had to go back, he had to help her!

"She was dead, it's not your fault. You'd just have followed her to the grave. Your reaction is a normal one but we don't have the luxury of that. I'm going to take half the supplies we took and stay with you until after the anthem. Now stop thrashing!"

Dead. Why?

He fell to his knees.

Rachel's hand was the only thing that prevented Yolo's primal howl of pain to alert the Careers.

His lips were warm and salty. Blood. He repressed the urge to bite and slowly pulled away.

Yolo stared at Rachel's hand. It was red with blood.

"You're hurt." He whispered.

"Just my side, muscle. I'll deal." She said, triumphantly pulling a bandage out of the bag and wrapping it around her side. Yolo forced himself to meet her eyes, pushing away the urge to rush back to the Careers, to join them and hunt One down. To see the tall girl's neck broken and hope Bryony rested easier.

Bryony. He was the worst of allies…

"Not your fault!" Rachel growled, shaking him.

Yolo didn't answer, pulling a bandage out of the bag instead and splitting the food and water in half. They had enough for at least three days of each. Pity there were no weapons. He longed for something sharp and cutting.

"Must you leave?" he asked, his voice much calmer than he felt.

"I want to be responsible for myself only. " She said. Yolo smiled faintly at her scowl.

"Then what are your eyes apologizing for it?"

Her scowl just deepened. Yolo grinned, a hollow grin, but it was the only way of coping he knew, thinking positive.

The anthem nearly crushed his resolve. Pointless. It could've been him. Carnelia seemed to have picked at random. Her own district partner too. It was disgusting. He didn't want to hate, he didn't want to despair, but it was so hard!

"Temper." Rachel warned.  
Yolo's own growling finally registered in his ears.

Dasheen, Liana, Shae, Fey, Rael. Mum, Trudy, Billy, Dad. Shae. Dasheen, Liana, Rael, Fey, Trudy, Mum, Dad. Billy. He repeated their names in his head, like a mantra, holding Shae's whistle in his clenched fist. He grinned. A worrisome grin. A grin that warned any who'd stand in his way.

He'd known the Games would be hard. It'd take more to break him!

Rachel left as soon as he was calm again. Her bandaged side didn't seem to bother her too much as she stiffly walked away.

He started walking back to the big caves. Knowing it was the top of the maze and that eventually, something was bound to happen there. Knowing that the cold would be too much in the open this night. At least he had a sleeping bag now. His knuckles were white against his woolen scarf.

A woolen scarf. The best he'd done for his only ally.

_Not your fault!_

Yolo rolled his eyes, a bitter smile tugging his lips. His fault or not, Bryony still was gone. Gone. His tongue darted on his lips, tasting the salt of his own tears.


	30. Day 5: Betrayal and revelations

**Night 4: D9, Harrow, 18**

A hand shook him awake. He groggily sat up and pushed the sleeping bag down to his legs.

"Stop trying to sleep on your bad knee, Harrow," Rose said sternly.

The chilly wind cut through the hair of his chest. He hastily put his shirt back on, wondering when it had gotten off.

"Sorry," he mumbled as his vision cleared. How could he possibly control how to sleep?

There was just the light of the moons and stars. Not a sound except the dull whistle of the wind going between the cracks in the rocks. He now remembered Rose had the dawn watch. It had to be close to five am. He sat next to Rose, careful not to disturb the three sleeping figures. His knee groaned despite the little weight he put on it. Harrow didn't even wince. Compared to two days before, the pain was a laugh.

"Think those are real stars? The same as we have at home?"

"Since when do you look at the stars, peasant boy?" Rose whispered back in teasing tones.

Harrow gently elbowed his friend, unable to deny the truth in that statement. Emmer had huffed and puffed about him being 'depressingly down-to-earth' ever since he'd learned the word 'depressingly' which had been _depressingly_ early: Emmer had been five at most.

"Megan says stars are what dead people leave behind for us, to remind us not to forget the stories of their lives," Harrow answered, his eyes on the flickering spots of light. He wondered which part of the night sky would house Rose's star. Surely she deserved to be remembered. Surely he did too.

He didn't want to have to mourn Rose. Her head now rested on his chest. He'd never taken her for an affectionate girl before, but these days he wasn't of a mind to let her go, and she never complained. He soundlessly ground his teeth, afraid to hurt her if he squeezed her tighter.

"What will I do when you are gone," he finally asked, desperate for some guidance. He knew how Rose felt about killing. He also knew that was the only way to win. Everything felt so wrong.

Rose's breathing seemed to stop. Her face was darker than the night. He wasn't made for things so grim.

"Listen to Mercury. Do not leave before she asks. Then do what you must to go home. "

Harrow nodded, but he'd seen enough of the Games to know time did funny things to the tributes' brains in the arena.

"What if something happens to them? Are you sure Mercury or Drake won't turn on me?"

Just asking such questions felt wrong. He could see Five jumping on him. He remembered the crippling pain. Why? He'd never done anything to that man. But it was the Games. He could only trust Rose.

"If Drake does you'll see him coming. If Mercury does, you will die, so no point in dwelling on it, Harrow." She took a deep breath. "If you are alone, remember the Careers are better in any fair fight. Hide until the very last, use your bow. Ally with Yolo or Rachel if you can but always remember they want to go home too."

He realized she was crying. "I'm sorry, Rose," he whispered, holding her close. Who was Rachel again?

"I'm not keeping watch at all," she said with a little laugh.

"The wind will warn us. They haven't washed in days. They'll stink."

Rose snorted against his chest. "We stink too. Your nose just doesn't smell it anymore."

And he'd thought it had been smart thinking. Well at least it had made her laugh. He grinned ruefully.

**Day five**

**D6, Drake,15**

He woke up with a jolt. He forced his sticky eyes open, everything was quiet. He felt something cold on his sleeve. Water.

_Water?_

Drake scrambled to his feet. Rose was lying on the side. Her water bottle was open and dripping on the ground next to her outstretched hand.

He noticed Mesmer was gone.

His hands went clammy, dread gripping his stomach. He had to steady himself not to fall down again.

"Rose?" he whispered fearfully, shaking her.

She didn't move.

His eyes darted towards Harrow. He seemed to be sleeping. Quietly. But Harrow had always snored a bit. His chest wasn't rising. His lips were parted, wet.

Drake's breath hitched. His heart pounding so loudly he feared he'd alerted the whole arena.

Mercury was balled up next to the second entrance, near where their supplies were concealed.

Drake kicked her awake. She opened her eyes and quickly pushed her sleeping bag off her. The boy's eyes filled with tears in sheer relief.

"What's wrong?" She said, scrambling to her feet.

"I think they're dead. He's gone."

Mercury blinked. Once, twice. Drake stood frozen, as if desperately waiting for her to prove him wrong. The girl slowly walked up to their allies. Her eyes stopped on the water. She frowned. Her hand went inside her belt.

Drake instinctively replicated her movement.

His nightlock berries were gone!

Mercury eyes narrowed at his horrified expression. "Leave anything edible he could've touched, including your water. Son't lick your fingers. Follow me," Mercury said in low tones, grasping his wrist painfully.

In a few seconds they were gone. They'd just kept the harpoon and the throwing knife in addition to Mercury's snare and two of the backpacks.

Mercury emptied her water bottle over Rose's plant supply and stuffed the portable heater in the bigger bag.

"Take our two sleeping bags. Put them around your shoulders. Hurry, Drake."

He obeyed mechanically, his trembling fingers struggling to accomplish the task.

The cannon sounded twice the moment they fled the cave. Drake shouted in fear when a boulder collapsed right next to him. His head jerked towards Mercury, a suffocating fear overpowering his reason. The girl painfully grasped his shoulders.

"Keep quiet, Drake. I just used the harpoon as lever to jam the way out."

Drake was in shock, following her instinctively but unable to think.

"Now Mesmer knows only two of us drank. We have only have one and a half liters of clean water left and no food," Mercury said almost dragging him.

Weak pounding could be heard from inside the cave they'd left.

The dark skinned magician. Drake froze, his chest so constricted that he couldn't breathe.

"Drake, stay with me!"

It was those pleading beautiful pale-blue eyes that woke him from his stupor.

_No way._ Rose, Harrow, dead? Just like that?

He started shaking violently, great sobs wracking his body.

"Drake, pull yourself together. We need to get away, I beg you," Mercury mouthed, her face pale as death but her cheeks dry.

He tried. For her, he tried to run. Still she had to half drag him.

They went down the paths they'd taken two days before. Mercury suddenly pulled him towards the rocks. They awkwardly climbed over two walls, scraping their hands and knees as they slipped but reaching the other side. Mercury pushed him gently in a small cave.

"Don't be too loud, but the wind will cover any noise for now. We should be safe here, for a while."

Drake shivered, the wind sounded like moans of pain. He wanted it to stop! Mercury pulled him into a tight hug, fat tears forming in her clear eyes.

"I still have my nightlock. He'd have to have uncurled me to take it," she whispered, anger now mingled with pain.

"You told us he was dangerous. We should have listened and killed him."

"I could've but I didn't, Drake. It's just as much my fault. Rose must have given a half asleep Harrow water and then drunk herself, without noticing he was dead. At least it was quick."

Quick. _Right._ Drake fist tightened painfully over Mercury's shirt. "They were good people!"

"Rose wanted to die," Mercury said in choked tones.

Drake pulled away. That was the stupidest thing he'd ever… _The cameras_. Mercury had told him never to forget them. Did that mean he wasn't allowed to get angry about his allies being dead? He was horribly confused and felt physically ill.

Mercury kissed his forehead, rocking him gently. "The most important thing to Harrow was his family, to Rose it was life, that of every being. Live and respect life, win and make sure Harrow's family doesn't lose themselves to their grief, and you'll have done as much for them as any could."

Drake met her pained eyes. He guessed she had more experience at coping with loss. He'd always thought he was strong but now he felt helpless and scared. He should've been ashamed to show so much weakness in front of a girl, but now, he was just grateful she was being strong for them both.

The sky was brown. The anthem filled the skies.

"It won't be violent. Look, we might learn something," Mercury said, a hard edge to her voice.

Mesmer, stealthy as a shadow, squeezing nightlock juice into their four water bottles then finishing his guard as if nothing had happened.

Mercury hissed in anger. "I'm an idiot."

No, she was one of the smartest people Drake knew. "Why?"

"Rose still had her berries. Both our watches came after Mesmer's. He couldn't risk us checking our belts and seeing they'd gone missing. And it seems the plants hadn't been touched. Well, they're poisoned now."

She was so tense Drake was afraid she'd snap. He was the opposite, there was no strength left in his body.

Mercury had been right about the rest. Rose made Harrow drink, drinking right afterwards. Her dark blue eyes widened in shock before the light went out in them. Rose probably hadn't even noticed the color or taste was off with it being so bad already.

"Do you think reindeer meat is any good," Mercury asked as the sky showed the dead animals.

Drake's lips didn't even twitch at the sarcastic tone. He hugged her tighter, now terrified to lose her too.

* * *

**D8, Georgie,14**

She gaped at the sky.

Poison. The creep had poisoned their water.

She didn't know them. She didn't want to think about them, but she remembered quite well allowing Mesmer to go steal their supplies. She hadn't asked when Mesmer had shared his plan to fake an alliance with the four and steal their supplies. She hadn't wanted to. She'd let him. She'd basically given him her approval. It sickened her. She couldn't accept this. She couldn't throw away everything that made her proud of who she was. She couldn't pretend it was okay.

Victor put a hand on her shoulder.

Georgie shook it off violently.

Maybe she was naive. Maybe Victor was right. But this… this was madness! Mesmer was a criminal. She wanted nothing to do with him. She'd join Seven, she'd join Ten. She'd die in a ditch. She didn't care anymore. But she would not stay with someone who murdered in cold blood.

"A painless death, what more can someone who wants to live through this wish for them?" Victor said.

He didn't get it. He used people all the time even if he wasn't so bad after all. But his voice made the ginger pause.

She couldn't count on people saving her all the time. She couldn't just leave.

"He's bringing back the sewing pack?" She asked, forcing herself to sound pleasant.

"If they are the ones who had it."

A cough made her scream. Mesmer grinned. He'd appeared out of nowhere.

Georgie hid her face in her hands, willing her heart to slow down. He couldn't just walk up to them like everybody else, could he? He seemed to enjoy the cameras; probably never had had such a huge audience before.

Maybe it was better that way. She'd have slapped him if he'd come up normally.

He was loaded with equipment. A sewing pack, paint, a trident, weighted gloves, a cudgel, bows and some camping supplies. Nothing really useful except for the first item.

"Didn't the healer get plants," Victor asked.

"Three or Six threw poisoned water over them. They probably suspected I might have already done that. They have a few weapons including knives and a big bag with a heater. Maybe a bandage left. No food unless they're better liars than I thought. Maybe a little water. And electrical stuff, if they got any in the Cornucopia." Mermer summed up.

Couldn't he at least have the respect to use their names? He had to know them after this. They didn't have much food left either, with Mesmer having given the four the last cereal bars.

"You have new shoes," Victor pointed out.

Georgie looked down. Mesmer's trainers looked much less worn but there was blood on one's side. Her lips twisted in disgust. Those had belonged to someone before. Someone who had bled on them. She took a step back.

"So do you, catch," Mesmer said, throwing Victor a pair.

"A little small, but better than those holed soles, thank you."

"Just don't climb the rocks then," Georgie muttered. Did the two even realize how appalling they were? She couldn't believe she'd started to let herself like Victor in the last days.

"Another conscience crisis?" Mesmer said, rolling his eyes at her.

"Is killing people easier than eating for you?" Georgie snapped back.

"Actually yes, life is cheap in Eleven. Food on the other hand is scarce and expensive for the likes of me," Mesmer answered amiably, "that's why people never eat out alone in the evenings," he added with a small smirk.

Georgie squeezed her eyes shut at the horrible image. She took a shaky breath and went to open the sewing pack. She had to leave before her sanity left her.

Needles, two big, two smaller, but still as long as her index finger, in addition to strong elastic rubber bands and sturdy string. A last, surgical needle with string was in a corner of the box. Georgie debated giving the boys stitches just to practice. They'd deserve it. Now she had to escape with the sewing box and a backpack the moment there was an opening.

"What do we do now? Can I help," she asked.

"We let the others do a bit of the dirty work while we rest here," Victor said without a trace of humor. He then winked at her. "You can cook, woman."

Georgie flashed him a tight smile before grabbing the four hawk eggs Victor had found while exploring with his rope and grappling hook.

"Considering both your skills, I'd better."

"You need a house to have a kitchen," Mesmer pointed out with an innocent smile.

Georgie nearly socked him with her sewing box. She hated that she almost admired him in a twisted way for being such a survivor. She could easily picture him as victor. His heart obviously had died somewhere along the way.

**D1, Carnelia, 18**

She blew a kiss at the sky when the parachute fell. Why they'd waited until she'd run hours with a bad leg, almost fainting from the pain… And people would say _she_ was cruel.

_Squeeze the tube of cream over the knife wound without rubbing, remove the knife quickly, don't worry about tears or additional bleeding. The clasp goes around your ankle. Beware, there is no anesthetic. _

_C.  
_

She had to bite into her sleeping bag hard to remove the knife and apply the balm. Proud to have withstood the pain without attracting any attention, she fastened the electronic heavy clasp around her ankle.

The pain was unbelievable. Nothing during her training had prepared her for that. She lost consciousness.

She jolted awake, wildly checking her surroundings. She sighted in relief, absently lifting a hand to her burnt side. Her burnt side was the only real pain left in her body. Her leg was fine, just a dull ache in her ankle. She could walk just fine.

The sun was still high in the sky. Finally, a normal afternoon!

_Thank you Gnac, Twelve. _She knew that she owed them those sponsors.

Armagnac. He'd been a happy guy. It had been his worst crime. He had no right to be happy; to have this childish, oblivious kindness in him. Not after training, not in One.

Carnelia had never been anything but means to an end. Just like her brother, she had been born to win the Games for their parents. They'd never cared for anything other than the ranking she had reached in training. They were never satisfied, never proud, never compassionate. She'd wanted to make them happy before she'd known better. They'd looked down at her like a bad investment.

Her instructors had never believed in her chances. She'd gotten a whip against sex, not because anyone felt she deserved it, no matter how obvious her mastery of the weapon. She was fed up of been used and discarded, tired of not been considered. Even Yuppy didn't truly understand, being so loved herself. She would win the Games and she would finally be able to make her own choices. She would finally be able to say 'I want' and have people listen.

Armagnac had been everything she'd ever wanted to be without even struggling. He deserved his death. Carnelia had never hated anyone so much.

Her whole back ached. She had climbed above the caves, hiding on top of the rocky maze walls, out of sight. A horrible position to sleep in and even worse to land on when fainting, but safe. The Careers had passed right under her without seeing her.

The Careers. _Them_. She was alone now. She hadn't planned on going on her own so early but it had been such a brilliant opportunity. In a less messy context, Corsair and Aurora would've killed her in a blink. Such a shame she'd failed at getting Paloma.

A pact with that Ten girl would be nice. Poisoned darts would make her life so much easier. Would Ten be stubborn and self-righteous and refuse? Mundanes were so squeamish about killing.

Carnelia decided to dig in the food she had, almost gorging herself as she emptied half the supplies. She could fast if she had to later, better leave nothing to the others if they found her. She tore the spare sleeping bag to shreds.

She was upwind from the Careers. She could hear them setting camp for the night.

She smirked. How frustrated they had to be. It would not last, they had shut all the paths behind them. Soon the other tributes would be trapped, her amongst them. Her shoes were beginning to fall apart because of the treacherous rocks.

But soon the others would go hungry. They had maybe a day's supplies in food and little more in water.

Carnelia smiled, maybe it hadn't been such a rash decision after all.

**D2, Aurora, 16**

"Take my share," she told Corsair.

"Don't be absurd, this goes beyond training."

Honestly, male pride.

"I won't weaken if I skip a few meals. I'm not being selfless," Aurora assured him.

"You have a history of skipping meals," he whispered back, his dark eyes piercing into her soul.

She gave him a small serene smile. It was none of his business and a part of her past she had no intention to remember.

"If you cross my brother's path one day, ask him. He'll tell you," she said, looking away.

She detested contemplating her own mortality. She'd flirted with death once. Archer had proven her there was nothing pride-worthy about it. One scar on his smooth little wrists for every meal she skipped. She'd eaten again. She'd hated him at first for such odious blackmail but now only loved him more for it. It had only been fake control.

Paloma and Messenger had had the discretion to eat on the other side of their camp, doubtless talking about how unfair and inhuman this all was. Aurora had left 'unfair and inhuman' bloodied in the hand of peacekeepers in Two. The Games were just necessity and her path to freedom.

"If I do, I promise I will," Corsair said.

Some silences could be comfortable. When the wind was howling and death looming, these silences were not.

Aurora traced a finger over Corsair's handsome jawline. She wondered what he'd think if he knew she hadn't ever kissed anyone. She wondered if he'd spared her a second glance had she been plain. She doubted it. Her finger fell to her side.

"What's bothering you, Aurora?" Corsair said.

He looked so genuine then, so caring. So had her father, with people he wanted to impress.

Her lips twitched in dismay. She liked to think she was stronger than many, rational and unbroken. Reality reminded her it wasn't so simple.

"What if Carnelia comes? Or Mesmer and Five? We should be closer to the others," she said.

Corsair wasn't a fool. "The moment came and went did it?"

Aurora lowered her eyes to hide a rueful grin. He looked so peeved.

"Girls are fickle creatures," she said with forced cheer.

Corsair shook his head, a small smile gracing his thin lips. "That's an excuse."

Aurora struggled not to look down. She wouldn't show weakness. "Yes."

"Fine." Corsair granted.

Would he grow impatient? Would he try to force her then? Aurora's mind was full of dark whispers as she smiled to him.

* * *

**Living 12/24:**

**D1, Carnelia Aspen, 18**: wounded on the side (burn, medium/light). Had sponsors for ankle (twice) and leg wound.

Killed: Armagnac (D1 on day 4) and Bryony (D12, on day 4).

**D2, Corsair Teneber, 18**

Killed: Orvis (D4, during bloodbath) and "Mouse" (D5, during the bloodbath)

**D2, Aurora Feather, 16**

Killed Algor (D3, during bloodbath) and Hawk (D6, during bloodbath)

**D3, Mercury Kernel, 17**

**D4, Paloma Farsee, 18:** arm slashed (light) had sponsors for leg wound.

Killed Dash (D12, during bloodbath) and Tesu (D8 finished off during the bloodbath),

**D5, Victor Gleeb,18**

**D6, Drake Stanhope, 15**

**D7, Yolo Underbush, 13 **had sponsors for scarves.

**D8, Georgie Calico, 14**

**D10, Chester "Messenger" Fowl, 17:** head wound (light)

**D10, Rachel Galloway, 16:** side slashed (medium/severe)

**D11, Mesmer, 15.**

Killed: Harrow (D9, on day 5) and Rosemary (D9, on day 5)

**Other info**: Gamina (D7) killed by Armagnac (D1) during Day 2

Apple (D11) killed by Tesu (D8) during bloodbath


	31. Day 6: Plans and Doubleedged secrets

**Day 6  
**

**D5, Victor, 18**

Victor woke up abruptly, drenched in cold sweat after a vivid nightmare in which he was buried alive. He heard a rumble. It wasn't the first. He'd identified the noise as rocks falling at a lower altitude days ago. But this one was close to where they were, too close. The prospect of tackling the upwards-sloping maze and moving again didn't improve his mood. He'd give ten years of his life for a hot shower. Or just some toothpaste.

His breath caught in his throat as he realized what was missing in his surroundings.

_Where was she?_

His clenched his jaw, painfully tense. He'd counted on Mesmer. He'd slept through it all. Stress wasn't keeping him awake anymore. Mesmer had probably counted on him, even if the magician would never admit it. Victor identified relief among his churning emotions: now she wasn't his responsibility anymore. And he was worried, worried for the ginger. She was not made for the Games. She refused to compromise.

Georgie was gone. She'd left during her watch. The dawn watch.

He was taken aback at how angry that made him.

She'd taken the box of needles of course, and the thin ropes for snares, but only her share of the water, nearly nothing, and her sleeping bag. Not even a bandage or a backpack. And the grappling hook. That was more annoying. But really nothing compared to what she could've taken. She could've slit their throats.

No, not _Georgie_.

He clenched his fists, struggling not to hit something. "You were very tense after yesterday," he told a stirring Mesmer, not quite accusingly.

Mesmer just frowned, his striking eyes widening in innocent surprise.

Victor snorted. "You think Georgie is relieving her bladder? With her sleeping bag in tow? She has a three hour lead on us."

From his startled expression, the magician hadn't noticed.

"Maybe a little tense," Mesmer admitted through clenched teeth, almost shaking in sudden anger.

"No matter," Victor said, taking perverse pleasure from seeing something had finally unsettled the younger boy. "We have no food and no water. We need to take on the Careers. They'll have supplies."

Mesmer put his hand out, as if he was asking for money.

"Water and a little food please. Or we'll do something asinine and get killed. We'll need 24 hours to ambush the Careers properly."

Victor paused. He was reasonably sure he had sponsor money. He was certain Mesmer had more.

"I second that," he said pushing down the humiliation at having to beg.

A half-liter of water a pound of hard cheese and a loaf of bread dropped in a parachute. Mesmer received a full liter of water and what looked like rice pudding.

"Thank you, Seeder, Sponsors," Mesmer said with an angelic smile, staring straight at some odd crack in the wall.

Of course he'd have more. Victor's lips twitched in disgust. Mesmer's behavior was suddenly much less appealing.

"There is a time for everything. We rest now. We will need the green lights on our side," the magician said.

Fine. Victor tried to ignore the twisting in his guts. He couldn't help waiting for the cannon shot. The shot that would show him Georgie's corpse. Not to mention such a shot would delay them by making daylight last longer again. A thought then hit him. Had he just exhausted his sponsor money? The cheese lost all its savor and he had to force himself to swallow.

"About that ambush," he began dully, wondering if Mesmer already had a fully formed plan to share.

* * *

**D10, Rachel, 16**

The wind had died. It was the first thing she noticed: the silence. The wind had hidden them. It had been their ally. A haunting ally, just like the night, but an ally nonetheless.

She had rarely seen such a beautiful fall morning. Even the temperature was pleasant. A pity she couldn't enjoy it. In her head, drums were playing. She remembered watching the Games with her father, the compulsory daily recaps. There was a soundtrack to every scene, a theme song for every tribute. She wondered what tune the Gamemakers would pick for her.

She had to hide. Today the Careers would be hunting for real. She could feel it in her bones. She longed to scratch her burning side. The wound hadn't festered but it wasn't healing and wouldn't heal, not in these conditions. Every time she took a step she could feel the shredded muscle rebelling under the bandage. She forced herself to go on even if she knew she was making it worse and eventually have to stop. Of course she had no sponsors, not for such advanced medicine. She was just one of the boring untrained tributes after all.

She walked slowly but steadily; just like she'd walked until she'd almost collapsed from exhaustion after having left Yolo.

Yolo. A part of her felt horrid for leaving him there, alone, to cope with his loss, to survive. Another knew she owed her father more than she owed any other tribute. The man had raised her; he had only her. She owed Aries, who'd been there for her since forever. She had to survive.

The ground was flat under her feet. She sighed softly in relief.

_Flat?_

There were no more climbing paths. She'd reached the topmost part of the maze. A wide mouthed cave greeted her as she began to explore. She entered the cave, her throwing ax in hand. Big, dusty and close to water from the noise. She couldn't access it.

Rachel breathed in, fighting tears of frustration. She had water from the pack she'd gotten from the Careers. Enough to cook the poisonous roots and make her poison paste. Enough to worry about the waterfall the next day. She cleaned the floor around her and brought in small rocks to make sure the fire she built wouldn't spread to anything. She'd have to work fast, there hadn't been that much wood to gather.

* * *

**D10, Chester "Messenger", 17**

He was sick and tired of lugging rocks. Not that the Careers weren't doing their share of the work, far from it, but since blocking the paths was to better track down, trap and kill the other tributes, the job was far from appealing. Not to mention his head still hurt whenever he moved too quickly. He'd have one nasty scar. But one he'd not let them heal in case he ever made it back.

They'd been at it for days. Even weakened, Aurora had barely slowed. From the looks of it, they'd sealed off all but the top third or quarter of the maze at least. They'd taken turns in pairs; eight hours of back breaking work then eight hours of rest before another eight hours of lugging, like a well-oiled machine. Chester wondered what places like One, Two and Four had to be like with such hard-working efficient people in it. If they put the same effort in building as they did in winning the Games, it had to be something impressive.

The worst was that while they didn't waste any time, the Careers didn't look in a hurry. As they _knew_ they'd win. Which wouldn't happen for more than one of them obviously, but was great for effect. Had he been a sponsor, he'd definitely had sponsored them, even if they hadn't done so much since the bloodbath. Even Paloma had a steely-eyed determination that was alien to him.

He winced. Starting to think like a sponsor was not the direction he wanted his brain to take.

Still miles of open winding paths. Even if they were wider, with the rocks now dry enough to climb again, finding the other tributes could take a few days. He walked up to Paloma, who was checking out their work. She looked much too serious.

"Corsair's annoyed because Aurora won't kiss him. Aurora seems quite undecided and confused about whether to kiss him or not… I hope they won't take it out on us," he whispered, as if he'd stumbled on a great secret.

Paloma arched her eyebrows. "Observing them instead of sleeping? Why, you're quite the gossip, Messenger!"

He straightened proudly despite the flush creeping in his cheeks.

"It's half the job. People don't invite me for tea for my good looks."

Paloma smiled. A tight-lipped but genuine little smile. The best he got from her these days.

"What's to drop now," he asked, huffing pointedly.

"This sector's secure and our shift is up," Paloma said, "let's go."

Corsair was already awake and gesturing towards a path. There was rubble on one side.

"Someone has been there and climbed."

"We follow," Aurora said with a smile.

Chester didn't even bother to point out it was Paloma's and his turn to sleep and therefore an unfair decision. He hoped they would find new food soon. He'd never eaten lots but he'd never gone without food either and they had finished the last of it a couple of hours before. He couldn't help but worry. He knew he had no sponsors of his own.

* * *

**D3, Mercury, 17**

"So, how does it work?" Drake asked.

They'd switched caves the previous afternoon and then again earlier in the day, just enough to keep away from the Careers who announced themselves clearly as they collapsed the paths.

The paths were dangerous to walk and took too much effort. She had no clear idea of where the others, especially Mesmer could be, and that scared her more than she dared admit to herself. Her ally had taken her _keep busy so you don't think about what's happening_ advice to heart. Too much to heart. Drake wasn't just active, he was overloading with energy, and burning it too fast.

Their last meal had been the magician's power cereal bars two nights before. A light but decent meal, even by Three's standards, but they'd had only half a rabbit and a small bowl of edible plants to share in the morning before that, and now forty hours had elapsed since their last bite. Drake would soon collapse if he kept at it. Unfortunately he didn't seem equipped to handle Rose and Harrow's death so Mercury didn't force him to slow down. She was growing dizzy herself and debating whether to explicitly ask Aster to send her supplies, any kind of supplies.

Mercury wondered while finishing the last of the water if Victor knew his ally had nightlock berries. She wasn't even that angry at Mesmer. He was trapped. They were all trapped. She should've killed him. She couldn't hope to come through unscathed. There would be blood on her hands, one way or another.

The girl stared at the ground somberly. She had let Mesmer live. There was already blood on her hands. Rose had done more for her district in her short life than Mercury would probably ever do. Harrow had a girlfriend and a family of five. Four now. Still more people than the girl could claim to be close to.

"Mercury?"

Drake's voice put a stop to her dark thoughts. The black haired girl smiled. He was Finder's age yet so much of a boy still. He seemed so thrilled that she paid attention to everything she said. He was pointing at her snare expectantly.

"You can touch here and here, rubber won't conduct and it's to be able to move it without risk," Mercury began, "If you activate the switch here, the generator will go charge these components who will within a couple of seconds discharge into anything touching the metal. Those springs are just to make sure the snare closes on the target so they can't jump out."

Drake nodded shrewdly. "But how does it really work, like the charging thing, how, and what are the cylinder shaped things everywhere near the generator?"

Mercury's eyes glittered. It was so easy to prattle about electronics. Even dumbed down for the curly-haired boy's sake, it felt familiar. She was Fiddle again, going off tangents, explaining how it could've been made better with the right components, trying out ideas in her head.

She laughed. Drake was watching her wide eyed, nodding at regular intervals. It was obvious she'd lost him. He smiled back shyly. The smile vanished when a familiar and very unwelcome voice cut the air.

"I wanted a quiet place for myself. Not cool!"

Carnelia.

Struggling to keep the spike of terror from overwhelming her senses, Mercury urgently gestured for Drake to go back into the cave and grab the weapons.

"Kind of you to deliver supplies, we were running out," she said pleasantly, aware of the unnerving effect her calm attitude could have.

"Oh, I put them down when I heard voices. I'm not a very generous person," Carnelia replied with a threatening grin.

Mercury was counting on the Career toying with her. She had been very careful not to reveal her close combat skills and now all she needed was to get close enough. She silenced the terrified voice reminding her Carnelia's whip was much, much, more lethal than her hands. The orphan had the ability to kill. She now had to find the will. Drake stood frozen, just two steps back from where he'd left her snare.

_Drake._

Drake knew nothing of fighting.

Mercury's eyes narrowed with focus This time she would not hesitate. The tension in her body so great she was afraid she would snap and fall to the ground. She willed her heart coated in hard ice and waited for the other to reveal herself.

The auburn haired girl walked up to them with ease. She looked almost disappointed at seeing Mercury unarmed. Her whip was balanced by a small blue flag at the tip. Mercury would've sworn it had been yellow on Bryony's death recap.

"You changed the flag of your chain whip, it's now blue. It's cheating to bring weapons in the arena, Carnelia. Cheating is not cool." She said, parroting the other's words.

The taller girl's cruel smirk vanished, her eyes flashed. Anger, surprise, fear.

"You should be very afraid," Mercury said in the same soft voice, masking her own terror. The Capitol was probably the one thing that Careers feared in the arena.

Carnelia took a menacing step forward, towering over her. "Think you're smart, Three? You've got nowhere to run."

Before Mercury could answer, a shout split the air. The girl stood petrified as Drake sped for the Career, screaming like a madman, her snare in his hands.

_The snare._

He now knew how to activate it. He thought she was undefended and that he was their only chance. He was about to do something rash. Lethally rash.

She broke into a run towards the two.

Time slowed but she seemed slowed with it. She couldn't move fast enough.

"Drake no," she screamed, almost unheard amidst the boys' shouts.

Carnelia's movement was flawless. Drake sprung the trap.

The whip collided with the wire, digging into Drake's shoulder blade. Making wire dig into him.

The trap activated. Carnelia shouted as the electricity sizzled up the steel but she had loosened her grip in time and was too far away. The whip cluttered to the floor. The Career looked shocked but otherwise unharmed.

Drake's body convulsed as electricity sizzled through his chest.

Mercury has almost closed in the distance between her and Carnelia.

Carnelia's fingers wrapped around the whip's handle.

The younger girl's flexed arm came up to block the clumsy incoming strike, keenly aware she had half a second to act before Carnelia found her balance again. Her other hand connected with Carnelia's wind pipe; her thumb felt cartilage crack.

It was only when the leonine girl fell limp to the ground that Mercury realized something warm and sticky was trailing down her upper arm. One quick glance at the gash and she figured she wouldn't die of blood loss. She rushed to Drake's side. He was still breathing, shallow fast breathing.

A first cannon sounded.

She took the boy's pulse frantically. Just as she feared. Erratic. Weak. 0,2 Amperes, 200 Volts. It was enough to kill.

But it didn't kill all the time, not nearly all. He had to make it. He would've made it with a hospital nearby. He could still make it!

CPR. She knew CPR.

The second cannon sounded, merciless in the sunlight, while she was still crouched over the last of her allies, the boy who had taken a special fondness of her, her nose inches from his cherubic face.

Her sobs threatened to dissolve into hysteria as the anthem played out.

She took the silver parachute, if only to see Aster's familiar writing. She almost tore the paper as she frantically opened the note.

'_Put a bandage on your arm! Win. _

_Please. _

_Aster.'_

She'd never heard him say please. Never. He'd just held her before letting her go, more demonstrative than he'd been in the six years she'd known him, but he'd never said _please_.

Slowly she stood up.

There were just a pair of metal scissors and a few pins in the parachute. Probably the cheapest non useless thing he could send.

Mercury's hands shook as she took Drake's hover magnet. It was the only thing he'd talked about, the previous afternoon, when he'd found the strength to talk again. Flying. Exploring. So many dreams crushed.

She bound her arm, taking only the supplies she would need. And the harpoon. It reminded her of Drake and steadied her step.

Scissors. Aster might get in trouble if she didn't use them. It might look suspect.

No one else would be hurt because she'd made a mistake, ever.

Her hair had dipped into Drake's wound during her pathetic revival attempt. Stained with sticky blood. She hacked half her braid off, leaving her hair to fall just below her shoulders.

Her mother had been the last to cut her then short hair. Eight years before. She forced a new wave of sobs down.

She then realized maybe he'd meant cutting the long bandage that she'd clumsily wrapped around herself and using the pins to fasten it. Her arm was still sticky with blood. She tried to make it a little cleaner, almost emptying out the last little bottle of alcohol. The scissors helped. She managed to fasten the bandage so it wouldn't move. It was still a mess. She didn't really care.

She started searching for Carnelia's supplies. She didn't need to search long, they came straight to her.

"Hello, Georgie," she said in hollow tones.

She hoped no one else had heard Drake's shout. She didn't have the strength to deal with another hostile group.

"I can't win against you," the ginger said, lowering the two bags she was holding and lifting her hands up in a sign of surrender.

Bloodied and haggard looking with her chopped hair hanging wildly around her face, Mercury guessed she looked a fright.

Her lips twisted bitterly. "I've already killed my last ally with my own snare. I think I've done enough."

"The kill point went to Carnelia."

Mercury smiled without her eyes. She didn't want pity. "Well in that case it's too bad. I'll kill you."

Georgie froze, fear obvious on her features. She couldn't step back without falling off the rocks.

"You have very bad survival reflexes. Freezing instead of running." Mercury sighed, forcing herself to focus. "Don't mind my words, I won't kill you. Come, we'll share the bounty."

"Okay." The younger girl's voice was a mere whisper.

"Don't tell me that I'm scarier than Mesmer now. I might commit suicide at the mere thought."

Mercury felt light, detached. Nothing. She felt nothing. It wouldn't last. She had killed someone and didn't care. Maybe it was the beauty of self-defense, maybe she would never feel guilty. Maybe she would join the ranks of the shells, emptied out by the Games.

_No_. _She'd rather die_. And dying was not an option. She forced herself to cut back the self-pitying.

"You're not going to attack me or anything," Georgie asked, her voice stronger.

"Your question is illogical. Were I irrational, my answer would be irrelevant. I could say no and still be a danger to you."

"Do you want me to talk to you?"

Mercury paused to look at Georgie, really look. The younger girl was wringing her hands, concern etched in her every feature. She distantly remembered that Georgie was quite the mother hen in her family. The discussion's she's had with the other tributes in the Capitol felt a lifetime ago.

"Prattle on. I'll be snide. I'll try not to make it personal. Ignore me. We'll stop as soon as the urge to run until I drop dead fades a bit. What happened to you since the bloodbath?"

Not the nicest question; Georgie bristled. Mercury didn't care. She pushed any feelings away, trusting Finder and Aster to put her back together later.

Later. There had to be a later.

She didn't want Georgie hurt, but she had to keep distant. At the moment, it was very easy.

"Come on," Mercury said impatiently, "Mesmer's a hit man in disguise. Victor is trying hard to be the same in his snob way, unfortunately he's got a decent side that he's got trouble repressing. That much was obvious since training. Now you can actually complain about them so don't restrain yourself."

Georgie chuckled, a choked but amused sound. "Okay, okay."

* * *

**D7, Yolo, 13**

Yolo wept for Three, knowing how it felt to lose the ally you were supposed to protect. At least this time, One, Carnelia Aspen, had been stopped.

He didn't find the taste of revenge sweet at all. There was nothing sweet about death. He wept for Bryony. He'd been doing a lot of that. He wasn't hungry and still had water. He had found Rachel again even if she didn't know he was close to her cave. He just liked knowing there was someone alive not far. He was as safe as he could be, so he didn't bother to mask his feelings.

He took a big breath of fresh air. Such a beautiful day.

He missed talking to someone.

"Funny, I hadn't noticed she could fight with her hands like that," he said.

Of course no one answered. He waited. Still nothing. Good. He wasn't going mad.

He sat perched on his rock, ready to hide at the first glimpse of other people. He had no wish to go inside. He wished he had more food, so he wouldn't have to save up his strength and could explore some more. The maze was beautiful if one actually looked. He found shapes in the rocks, always keeping an eye on his surroundings. The big one on the other side of the path looked like a winged elephant if he tilted his head right.

He climbed higher, on the huge pile of rocks on top of the maze. Sharp, unstable rocks. He was confident no one else had the skill to climb them. He finally sat down, perched high above everyone else. He blinked like a hawk. Something was weird in the colors of the rocky walls from up there. He squinted. Some were lighter than others. He tilted his head and finally, it made sense.

HAPPY 63rd GAMES PANEM!

Yolo's jaw dropped. He was sure that from a sky angle, all the watchers would have read it. Indignation started to well up in him as he mouthed the words, as if it would make them disappear.

It was as if someone had thrown mud over all his memories of the Capitol. For them it was a game. It would always be a _game_.

He'd always known but it hadn't really sunk in until now. The gamemakers surely felt clever and creative with their rock-written inscription. People were cheering in the Capitol while families cried in the districts. These weren't silly people who didn't know better. They were monsters.

Yolo's eyes were dry and hard. No, there was no beauty in a maze designed to kill them for fun.

* * *

**AN: The Careers started hunting where Victor attacked Harrow and have blocked all the lower paths, so 80% of the maze. Yolo and Rachel are a little over an walk away (if you take the shortest route and climb some rocks, otherwise it can take up to a day) at the top of the maze. Georgie and Mercury are under an hour away at a slightly higher altitude than the Careers and Mesmer and Victor are 1h30 away at approximately the same altitude as the Careers (on the opposite side of the maze, which is on a rocky mountain in case that wasn't clear) They are 45 minutes away from Georgie and Mercury (since it's a circle).**

**Things are going to go fast now that they are all in the same area!  
**

* * *

**Living 10/24:**

**D2, Corsair Teneber, 18**

Killed: Orvis (D4, during bloodbath) and "Mouse" (D5, during the bloodbath)

**D2, Aurora Feather, 16**

Killed Algor (D3, during bloodbath) and Hawk (D6, during bloodbath)

**D3, Mercury Kernel, 17: **slashed upper arm (light/medium). Had sponsors for scissors and bandage pins.

Killed Carnelia (D1 on day 6)

**D4, Paloma Farsee, 18:** arm slashed (light) had sponsors for leg wound.

Killed Dash (D12, during bloodbath) and Tesu (D8 finished off during the bloodbath),

**D5, Victor Gleeb,18. **Had sponsors for 1 day food/water.

**D7, Yolo Underbush, 13 **had sponsors for scarves.

**D8, Georgie Calico, 14: **concussion (recovering, light).

**D10, Chester "Messenger" Fowl, 17:** head wound (light)

**D10, Rachel Galloway, 16:** side slashed (medium/severe)

**D11, Mesmer, 15. **Had sponsors for 1 day food/ 2 days water.

Killed: Harrow (D9, on day five) and Rosemary (D9, on day five)

**Other info**: Gamina (D7) killed by Armagnac (D1) during Day 2

Tesu (D8) killed Apple (D11) during bloodbath

Carnelia (D1) Killed Armagnac (D1 on day 4), Bryony (D12, on day 4) and Drake (D6 on day 6)


	32. Day 7: Bonding,Ambush and Wagers

**Thanks to my wonderful reviewers.**

* * *

**Mercury Kernel, 17, D3**

Mercury woke up stiff with cold, a lead weight on her unhurt shoulder. She turned her head, feeling her neck muscles protest. Her lips twitched despite herself as the weight revealed itself to be Georgie's sleeping form. She pushed the smaller girl gently off her, put her sleeping bag over the other's small body and crawled up to the heater. From the acrid smell, the fuses had to have been cheap because they'd melted sometime during the night.

She eyed the device critically. She could make a small shocking snare by recycling the components. She soon dismissed the idea, her face dark. After the previous night's events, electrical snares held no more appeal. Georgie's rope ones would be just fine. Not that the ginger had had the time to do much the day before. Mercury had ravenously wolfed down the supplies, making Georgie do the same, afraid the black-haired girl would finish everything if she didn't. Mercury had almost forgotten how good being clear-headed felt like.

Mercury blinked. She cradled her aching hand. She had _killed_. Now that shock and hunger had fled, she slunk to the floor alone with her conscience. She had killed for _gamemakers_. She had become a murderer to entertain others. To _survive_. Pride warred with self-disgust, as she slowly stood up. She had killed. She was alive. She had done what had to be done. It was the Capitol's fault. The Capitol had killed Carnelia. The Capitol had killed _Drake_.

Something shattered in Mercury and soundless tears began to fall down her cheeks. The Capitol had killed them, but she had been its tool. A willing tool, because nothing stopped her from sinking a knife in her own heart.

She inhaled deeply, not wanting to wake Georgie. Desperate for comfort, she re-read Aster's crumpled note, feeling the familiar fluttering in her chest as she thought of him. She was painfully aware that he was witnessing her every action, no matter how humiliating or vile. She shook her head. She _had_ to survive. The Capitol would not make her forget Drake, but this would be the worst place to mourn. She'd been a mess for months after having lost both her parents to a stupid accident. Paradoxically, that helped her now. Being depressed didn't keep her from focusing.

She frowned at the floor. Yellow dust? She almost pressed her nose on the suspicious-looking substance.

_Sulfur._

She jumped back in sudden fright, double checking there was no fire source in cave they'd blindly elected to sleep in. She finally realized that not only the cave was as large as an upper-class house in Three, but that it dug deep in the ground. She carefully walked up to the entrance.

Flat. The ground was flat.

She blinked. They were as far as they could be then, if this was the top. Yet the noise she heard, a faint constant rumble, was water. She had no doubt of that.

Sulfur in the cave.

She headed back towards Georgie, her eyes sharply sweeping the cave floor. Charcoal dust and a white powder that looked more like salt than dust if one looked closely. Saltpeter.

_Dynamite._

Mercury didn't know whether to laugh or hit her head against the cave wall. The gamemakers wanted them to blow their way into the rest of the arena? That was madness!

_Unless_…. With her knife, she opened the crude heater up, eying the now dead electrical system. It wasn't cheap at all but the wires were distorted, as if there was a powerful magnetic field in the cave.

The pieces fell together: the sudden bitter cold would make the tributes hide in the caves and light a fire, making the maze blow up. The Capitol had a way to shield them, here in the caves. Whether they would use it for all tributes though, remained a mystery.

_So that's what the heavy noise-proof helmet had been for!_ She'd left it behind the day before.

Georgie was squinting at her. "What time is it? What are you doing?"

"Morning doubtless. I was checking if I can fix this," Mercury answered in way of greeting, "and I fear it's permanently dead."

"Damn. It's so cold," Georgie muttered, pulling the two sleeping-bags closer.

"Stretch, it'll warm you up. And you'll never guess how we can get access to the waterfall."

Georgie perked up. "Waterfall? As in washing up?

Drinking was_ much_ more urgent. "Hopefully."

"So how?"

Mercury pointed to the pile of chemical components she had made. "These react together to make dynamite," she explained.

The girl from Three concealed a grin as Georgie's slack jawed expression gave way to horror and anger.

"We're in this cave, you can't blow it up," the ginger exclaimed, struggling to keep her voice down.

"I'm not going to yet, not before I know where the others are. We're safer here than in an open terrain."

Georgie stared. "Mercury, we're in the cave that you want to blow up," she repeated, as if speaking to a dim-witted child.

Mercury smiled confidently. "I'm not specialist on dynamite, but the amount of chemicals we have here will make a huge blast. They can't blow every tribute up."

Georgie didn't share her sense of humor. "Yes, let's bet our lives on the Gamemaker's idea of fun."

Mercury went to sit back next to her, slinging an arm around her shoulder. "We need water. We're evidently set up for this. I don't see how we can avoid going along with it."

Georgie own sigh was heavy with anger. "Yeah, you're maybe right. Tributes dying squashed, how dull! Do you think those people would have feelings were it Capitol kids in the arena?"

Mercury's hold on the girl tightened. Her eyes blazed in anger and warning. Anger at the Capitol and warning because there were things you couldn't survive saying on national television.

"Don't be absurd, it's the Districts who rebelled." Besides it was not the Capitol kids but their parents and grandparents that deserved to be put in the arena.

"How does that make us any less..."

"Snares," Mercury cut in a cold voice that brooked no contradiction, "You have snares to build."

She didn't let Georgie see how much the younger girl's confused and betrayed expression hurt her. In truth Mercury didn't understand. In Three, it was the first thing they were taught at home and school_: you will have fulfilling and challenging jobs, marry who you like and raise children in a safe environment_ (the Games were omitted of course.), _but never say a word against the Capitol._ She wondered what Georgie had been taught and if in Eight people were free to curse the Capitol as long as they didn't act against it.

"Right, snares," Georgie muttered, "why didn't you take yours, by the way?"

_As in peel it off Drake's corpse?_ Mercury thought somberly.

"It might've been better had I never had those components," she said, her throat constricting with grief.

Intellectually, she'd known Drake's days were numbered, but she couldn't get his shocked expression, his convulsing body, the cry of help in those wide chocolate eyes, out of her mind.

"I'm really sorry, Mercury, that was a stupid question," Georgie said, grasping the other's hand.

Mercury smiled bitterly. "It's as if a twelve year old had had a crush on you, Georgie. He was so... I had told him to stay back but he thought I'd be helpless against Carnelia...

His war cry, so abruptly ended.

Mercury took a shaky breath. Georgie's dark blue eyes were pools of compassion. She was trembling slightly, as if sharing the other's pain. Mercury brushed the younger girl's freckled cheek with a hand.

"Don't torture yourself, Georgie."

"But it's wrong! And so meaningless."

Mercury smiled despite herself. Georgie wasn't playing the Games. The black haired girl felt like hugging her just for that. Tears filled Mercury's eyes as the implication of that discovery hit her. Georgie wouldn't survive. Even if she had the skill, as long as she made her disdain of the Capitol obvious, she would be killed by the gamemakers.

Georgie pulled her into a hug, mistaking it for sorrow at Drake's death and whispered words of comfort in her ear.

"Sorry for scaring you and forcing you to talk yesterday. That and throwing myself on the supplies like a savage," Mercury said, pulling herself together.

"It's nothing. How can you… I mean, you're pretty athletic for a Three tribute."

"I've been doing odd jobs, at people's homes to earn some money. Makes me run around and see the sun. It helps for my studies, buying more sophisticated components to try things out."

It wasn't the whole truth of course. Mercury wondered if she'd ever stop lying after this.

Georgie stared. "At seventeen, you're still at school?"

"Of course, I'll be until I'm twenty. There are two benchmark exams: the engineer one at twelve, you become a technician if you fail at it, and the researcher one at fifteen."

Unless like Algor you bypassed everything and started working on your master's project at eleven. Mercury crushed Algor's duck token with her hand - the old plush toy now concealed in her pocket- keeping her face mild. Such a terrible waste of potential. Such a kind boy.

"Oh. No wonder you guys are smart. We all stop at twelve in Eight, unless we want to become teachers."

Mercury smiled "Like you do then."

Georgie smiled back shyly before growing serious again. "So when do we blow this up?"

"When the night's real, so we can hide if we're too close to threats."

"And you want my snares," the ginger said with a knowing smile.

"They're rather cool."

"You bet." Georgie's smile soon turned sour. "You didn't seem to think that back in training."

Mercury sighed. "You want the kind and true answer or the harsh and true answer?"

"Victor only ever gave me the second choice. I upgraded ally-wise, cool no," Georgie replied bitterly.

Maybe it was because the ginger was suddenly fidgeting, or the resigned gleam in her eyes. Maybe it was the now stubborn set to her ruby mouth but something was now clear: there was some serious tension between Georgie and Victor Gleeb.

"Georgie, I had three allies already and you obviously wanted to lead. Let's leave it at that."

Georgie nodded. "I guess it's better. At least I'm not afraid you'll slit my throat."

_Oh Georgie._

**Yolo, 13, D7**

He could see them. The puffs of dust barely a quarter mile down. The Careers. Now only the last two boys, Eleven and the handsome one from Five (or was it Eight? he couldn't get the numbers straight.) were missing. Five large caves, one for Rachel, one for the two other girls. He'd seen them settle in one the night before. He saw everything and nothing could see him. He saw too much. The inscription on the rocks still made him angrier than anything he'd ever seen.

The Careers were coming. The sun was low in the sky, it was two hours past midday at most, probably earlier. For some reason the last two kills weren't worth so much daylight as the ones before. Yolo didn't even try to make sense of it. He eyed the rocks under him, trying to see which would move if hit. Pushing with all his might, he finally managed to alert Rachel, making some big stones fall next to her cave. She was the closest to where the Careers were going.

Soon he saw her purple-streaked head poke out carefully of the cave. She had her hollow-stick weapon between her lips. He didn't have to go to her or say anything, soon her eyes were on the dust been raised on the paths.

Even though he was growing very thirsty, Yolo decided he would not move, not until he was sure they at least had water. Just the idea of being close to more death made him ill.

**Victor, 18, D5**

He clamped his hand firmly on his mouth. Mesmer smirked, showing he was being less than discreet.

Victor had woken up with a raw throat and a nasty cough which amused Mesmer to no end for some reason.

The Gamemakers had given them the mixed blessing of an early sunset to ambush the Careers. Victor was very tense. He wouldn't have the luxury to avoid killing this time and he wasn't sure he wouldn't mess it up somehow.

The best defense was a good offense.

They had been trailing the Careers for a good half hour, waiting for the perfect place to act. Their trousers had been reduced to shorts. The cut tissue was now wrapped around their shoes to muffle the noise they made walking. Victor stayed on the paths at all times, guided by Mesmer who regularly climbed the rocks. The skinny kid was quiet as a mouse. Or as death. Victor wondered if he wasn't also a burglar in his off hours.

They couldn't talk which didn't suit Victor at all. His thoughts kept going back to Georgie. That girl had been a hopeless case but for some reason, she'd gotten under his skin. She'd appalled him, angered him, but also being endearing. Basically, she'd made him feel alive in the suffocating maze. He missed her, he was worried, and most of all he was furious his focus had been compromised by that slip of a girl.

His hand flew back against his mouth before a wracking cough could betray their location.

His eyes narrowed, Mesmer had stopped. The magician pointed at the end of the path. Crossroads.

The green glow to the skies made his heart race and adrenaline rush to his limbs. He concentrated solely on his beating heart and the well-toned limbs which years of practice had turned into reliable weapons. The Careers would never know what hit them.

**Paloma, 18, D4**

Her hand gently pushed on Messenger's back. He was swaying slightly and panting hard as he climbed on the rough terrain.

"Man up, we're close to the top," Aurora said. Her perfectly brushed hair cascaded over her shoulders, only the barest hint of sweat marred her brow.

"Part of Career training is using extra energy not to show you're tired," Paloma told Messenger with a tight smile. She hated the fear in his eyes every time the others talked to him.

Messenger chuckled. "Wish I had that extra energy to spare."

"You're such a big softie, Paloma, it's cute," Aurora said with a patronizing grin.

Paloma ignored her. They were such kids. Dangerous, uncaring kids. She only cared to see Messenger smile.

Corsair hadn't said a word in hours. He sometimes held Aurora's hand, his eyes never wandering from the rocks surrounding them, as if he could just scare them away with a look.

Their patience was thinning, threatening the cohesion of their alliance. They'd managed not to insult each other yet, but it was high time they found the other tributes. She didn't dread it anymore, it was inevitable. Killing was a chore in the Games and she was ready for it. If she felt any fear, it was for the boy from Ten.

"The rocks over there aren't just a wall," Corsair said, abruptly stopping.

Paloma squinted, the setting green sun was making it difficult to see details.

"It's the maze top. We're there," Messenger said with a tired smile.

Aurora huffed. "Finally!"

"Pay attention," Corsair ordered.

_To what?_ It was silent as a graveyard.

The ground was almost flat under their feet. Paloma was considering asking for a break until the night had fallen properly: the flickering green shadows were slowly rising from the misty pools of light cast by the blend between the sunset and whatever artificial system the Gamemakers had designed. The glare was so bad she couldn't see a thing.

"Can any of you see? It's dangerous," she whispered, hating how crippled she felt without her vision.

"We're at a crossroads, we need to move out of the open first," Corsair impatiently whispered back.

Crossroads? She hadn't even noticed how wide the path had grown.

Corsair twisted on himself with near-inhuman speed.

Paloma froze as the glint of metal caught her eye. A knife was sticking out of Corsair's side.

"Ambush," she shouted. Corsair fell to the ground, crawling behind a rock for protection.

Blinded by the light, it was her reflexes that saved her. A trident missed her crouched form by inches.

Paloma had her sword in hand, her back against the rocks. Her attention was focused on her immediate surroundings; her senses hyper-aware now that her life was so obviously on the line.

Metal hitting rock far away, movement and a scream. Aurora's.

Sand on her neck.

_Sand_.

She bolted away from the rocks.

The wind was knocked out of her lungs by a kick that otherwise would've crushed her spine. There was a hand on her sword-wrist. She felt her arm threaten to break as her hold on her weapon weakened. She punched her assailant's mouth with her left hand, making teeth crack. She swiftly disengaged herself, struggling to regain her balance. She needed her sword back. She couldn't let Five dictate the terms.

Spittle and blood splattered on her face, making her squint.

She could see Messenger picking up her sword, just a couple of meters away. For the first time, she wished her ally had trained instead of being granted a childhood.

She had taken her eyes off Five barely half a second. Half a second too long, his time her reflexes didn't save her.

Her ear exploded, the world dimmed and slowed. The world was pain. She collided with the hard ground.

_Why you, Lynn?_ She wordlessly cursed, her hold on consciousness slipping despite her furious denial. She couldn't even see. _Why you!_

**Corsair, 18, D2**

Corsair forced himself upright, his eyes watering.

Aurora's scream made him snap his head towards her. She was on the ground clutching her right shoulder. Her hand was soaked in crimson blood. The sight just fueled his rage.

Knives. District Eleven.

A dangerous smile drew itself on the Career's lips. If that little boy thought a mere knife could stop him…. They'd dislocated Corsair's shoulder before an exam once at training. Mesmer was in for a nasty surprise if he thought pain would slow them.

He could see and hear everything: Chester awkwardly waving his sword after Five like a child throwing a tantrum, vanishing into a smaller path. Aurora, panting on the ground. Paloma dead, her head at an odd angle. Dead while she'd still been his to protect. Fury blazed in his veins. A skinny dark-skinned figure, a mere ten yards away. The whistle of a knife, heading straight for his stomach.

With training honed speed, Corsair dodged, barely grimacing at the wound in his side. He let his bolas fly. They were an extension of his being. He mastered them as he did his fingers. They obeyed his every command.

Eleven dived off the wall of rocks he was crouched on. _So predictable_.

The weights caught him in midair, wrapping themselves around his pretty little neck with a resounding _crack!_.

Eleven was fast, his hand had flown protectively around his neck. Corsair smiled mirthlessly. It would merely pospone his death. The chain and bolas meant for the magician's windpipe snapped his nimbles fingers and crushed the shattered bone. Corsair watched the other wriggle out of the bolas' hold like a frenzied ensnared rabbit. It was almost amusing, the struggle for survival. Morningstar in hand, Corsair closed the distance between them, not bothering to hurry. Almost on top of the magician, he absently swiped a mosquito off his neck.

A dart.

He staggered, barely keeping his balance. His vision blurred. It was as if a warm cotton blanket had wrapped itself around his mind and senses.

He bellowed in rage. _Five years!_ Five years of special plant regimes, of cramps and fevers to accustom himself to various common poisons. He'd had enough of the tributes' pathetic tricks.

He took a blind swipe at Eleven with his huge weapon. The scream of agony he received told him what he wanted to know.

A throwing ax missed him by more than a yard, almost landing on the dark-skinned tribute.

Corsair chuckled dryly as the girl from Ten missed his neck with her blowgun. These tributes were so bad he wondered why he had even bothered to train so hard. He could see her stiff figure clearly enough, growing nearer as he lengthened his strides. She was seated, the wound on her side ugly and swollen.

Changing weapons wouldn't save her life. "You little fool," he said, almost disappointed at the lack of challenge.

"You bastard," the girl screamed, her face raw with fury and fear.

The next dart missed blatantly, at almost point blank range. Pathetic.

Her neck was just marginally harder to break than the Five girl's had been. He watched her fall to the ground. One step closer to victory.

The maze was silent now, except for ragged breathing.

Aurora.

He couldn't see where she was. Everything was terribly blurred._ Accursed poison!_

"Aurora, direct me to your location, please," he said tightly.

"Corsair! Fifteen yards where you're facing then six or seven right," a weak but clear voice answered.

The golden halo on the ground was unmistakable. He crouched, wincing as his whole body protested.

"You look like death," Aurora mildly pointed out, "did you get hit on the head? Your eyes are unfocused."

"Pull yourself up, Charming," Corsair tersely answered.

He put a protective hand on a now standing Aurora's arm as he heard steps.

"It's Messenger," Aurora said, "Let me go."

Aurora's good arm moved. The figure nearing them crashed to the ground.

Cannons began to sound.

"He was useless to us now," Aurora said, putting her hand back in his. "Let's leave this place."

Corsair blinked, having lost count of the detonations. He tightened his hold on her. Her skin was so smooth for one used to fighting.

"Absolutely, do you need to lean on me?"

"I'm a Career. I can walk," the girl answered, gently patronizing. "I have a few knives and my swords. Do you need your weapons back?"

"No, one pair of bolas and the morningstar will suffice. Better clear this place, I can't see a thing."

He fingered his last bolas with his free hand, finding their cool weight reassuring.

**Yolo, 13, D7**

He'd vowed he'd wait, but as soon as he heard the first scream, he'd had to get closer. Careful not to twist his ankle or slip, he moved as close to the fight as he could while not climbing down from his huge pile of rocks. It was really hard to see, with the last of the sunlight reflected by the flickering green shades. Shades that were looking more human as days passed.

Yolo shivered. He didn't want to see people's ghosts. He shielded his eyes with his hand, hidden behind a boulder and watched. The big Career was walking towards Eleven. The dark-skinned boy looked so tiny next to him. Yolo winced with each step the Career took. They both were wounded, except Two didn't seem to care so much.

Yolo almost fell off the mound of rocks when the Career shouted. Yolo's eyes were wide with fright. What possessed the 18 year old to shout like that?

Corsair hit the floor next to Eleven, except Eleven screamed as if he'd been hit. Yolo's lips were parted in shock as he saw Two leave. He couldn't believe the man had been fooled.

_Neat, Magician,_ he granted, still confused. He pushed his long hair out of his face squinting to see despite the increasing number of ghostly lights.

Two was now heading for Rachel and Rachel couldn't move, not with her painful wound. The Career was walking like a drunk man, maybe it was the knife in his side. Yolo's confusion only grew as Rachel threw her ax at Eleven. Did she think the other would help him? Well, he probably was a better thrower than she was.

When the magician took the ax and looked at the Career, Yolo almost cheered. He was going to help Rachel! Except the boy shook his head and started moving away.

Yolo's shoulders slumped, his eyes filling with angry tears.

"You bastard," Rachel screamed, blowing in her little weapon straight at the magician, when she really should have hit Two. Except maybe there wasn't enough poison in the needles for one so big. Yolo was shaking, feeling both the urge to flee and to hide forever in a deep dark hole.

Eleven's steps became awkward. He fell on his knees, a hand clutching his head. Soon, it looked like he had fainted.

Yolo helplessly watched Rachel die and Two leave, being nice to his district partner and her being nice to him, as if she hadn't just killed someone supposed to be her ally. Yolo didn't try to understand. He felt sick, as if something filthy had climbed all over his body from the outside and the inside, but knew he needed weapons.

He'd almost jumped off his rocks when he saw a figure run towards Eleven and shake him a bit.

A girl. Three.

Yolo watched, peeved as she took Rachel's weapons and the knife that had missed Two before lifting the magician up and slinging him across her shoulder.

He cracked his knuckles, not willing to let the other walk all over him. Sure there were the weighted stones and a trident left and maybe a knife somewhere but it was the poison little arrows he wanted. He landed right in front of her as she was heading back towards the cave she shared with the girl who'd wanted Bryony in her team, Georgie.

"I want Rachel's weapons," he said, crossing his arms to look tougher.

"You're no bully. It's 'please'," Three said, eying him warily.

Yolo's lips twitched, at least someone here was normal. "I want Rachel's weapons, _please,_" he repeated.

"Well, can't throw this guy on the ground to stop you, can I? Just don't use them on me if you can help it," she said, freeing a hand to throw him the bag.

The magician had to be almost as light as Bryony had been. Three couldn't be that strong. All of Yolo's aggressiveness fled at the thought. He then frowned. It was too easy, did she think to trap him somehow?

Three smiled. "If I know you won't use it on me, and you know I'll be busy taking care of him. We're both better off than the rest."

Yolo cocked his head, as if it would make him think better. He realized she was saying he'd go hunting while she healed the magician. He didn't want to look for trouble, let alone _hunt_. Seeing people die was bad enough.

"Okay, I promise."

The sky was brown.

"I need to move, when they'll see Mesmer's not dead, they might double back, wounded or not."

"Yeah me too," Yolo said, his eyes now darting to the sides, trying to see through the ghostly shades.

"Good luck, Yolo," the black-haired girl whispered.

They parted ways as the anthem of District 4 started playing.

Yolo realized he didn't know her name. That made him unexpectedly sad. He was so sick and tired of being alone. But he couldn't follow her, it was dangerous. He had to go home.

**Georgie, 14, D8**

Georgie had always been active, but she wasn't fit. She'd never walked long distances or climbed steep hills before. She'd wanted to go with Mercury but her body had begged her to rest. Her muscles were curled into balls, refusing to move, everything ached or just plainly refused to cooperate. Resting helped but not as much as she wanted it to.

The anthem was a pain, but at least it was no one she knew, her eyes stayed painfully dry. She shivered, her chin resting on her knees. She was in the last eight.

She heard noise and smiled in relief when Mercury came in. It was nice being with her rather than the other two. She distracted Georgie by making her talk, for some reason being (or pretending really well) to be interested by everything she had to say. Even Fuller didn't manage it. And Mercury was a girl, meaning that Georgie could hug her without thinking twice about it. She needed the human contact, and she needed the warmth.

Mercury was not alone. She had a body over her non-wounded shoulder.

_No way in hell._

"What's that? Fuel for the bomb," Georgie said through gritted teeth, pointing at Mesmer's prone form.

"No, a weapon against the Careers."

Georgie shook her head, anger bubbling in her veins. Mercury was a very practical girl, but there were limits.

"You mean the guy who killed your two allies and tried to kill you. Tell me, if Mesmer hadn't killed them, wouldn't Drake had felt better and not gotten himself killed the next day?"

Mercury's eyes grew icy. Georgie stepped back, fearing she'd gone too far.

"_Ouch,"_ the older girl said through clenched teeth, cold anger etched into her features. "Georgie, we need the Careers dead. The Careers have long range weapons, Mesmer has long range weapons. If you have a better plan, I'm all for it."

"He's not going to help us!"

"Killing us would be poor showmanship. He's a magician, he's all about giving the best show. He'll kill the Careers before he turns on us."

Georgie stared not believing how Mercury could bet her life on it.

"That's one hell of a gamble. And I don't want him in my cave," she said, knowing she sounded immature but not caring one bit.

"Sometimes you need to accept what you cannot do."

Mercury turned to the ceiling, her voice gaining a hard edge. It made Georgie realize the older girl had actually been making an effort to be nice to her. "And maybe Mesmer's mentors should send something before his body temperature goes even lower."

Georgie failed to choke down sobs of frustration when she saw the loaded parachute fall down. Of course _he _would have loads of sponsors!

"Georgie, these are the Games. Mesmer is of all of us the best at playing it. We cannot beat the Careers, even with good snares. It's always a wager. He won't wake for a day at least. We can look for better alternatives. If you do find one, I will kill him."

The ginger stared at the medicine filled injector, finding twisted comfort in Mercury's words. Mercury whistled as she read the descriptive and pushed some of the substance in her shoulder before injecting almost all the rest in Mesmer's left hand, his best hand, and a bit in his right.

"That wasn't yours," Georgie said with a reluctant grin.

"I'm saving his life. I deserve a functioning left arm. It'll heal one hand and remove the pain in another. He'll be fine."

"It'll mend bone," Georgie said incredulously. How could Mesmer be _that_ popular? Not to mention that if Mercury could use it on her slash wound it was some kind of all-use remedy. Stem-cells or something Georgie had only heard about on other Games' commentary.

"Yes. Now I need to make him swallow that gel thing. He's almost paralyzed so I guess I need a big spoon and a tube to shove it in without making him choke."

No parachute came in.

"Finished all the money did they? Pity," Georgie said, not bothering to mask her satisfaction.

"Aster?" Mercury asked with a big, somewhat apologetic, grin.

And of course Mercury's mentor was supporting her crazy idea. Brilliant. A tube and spoon-lookalike device did come.

Mercury laughed as she read the note accompanying the last parachute.

Georgie craned her head.

_Least expensive medicine I've ever bought. Nice trade. Take care. A._

The ginger smiled, more because of the happy glow to Mercury's cheeks. That smile died as the black haired girl started fussing over Mesmer.

Georgie was resting on her elbows, her lips pursed in annoyance as the other worked. She really needed that better plan. Mesmer would not be in her alliance again. _Ever._

* * *

**Living 7/24:**

**D2, Corsair Teneber, 18: **knife in side: (medium/severe) paralyzing poison: (severe)

Killed: Orvis (D4, during bloodbath), "Mouse" (D5, during the bloodbath) and Rachel (D10, day 7)

**D2, Aurora Feather, 16** knife in shoulder (medium/severe)

Killed Algor (D3, during bloodbath), Hawk (D6, during bloodbath) and Chester "Messenger" (D10 during Day 7)

**D3, Mercury Kernel, 17: **Had sponsors for scissors, bandage pins, a spoon and a tube.

Killed Carnelia (D1 on day 6)

**D5, Victor Gleeb,18. **Had sponsors for 1 day food/water.

Killed Paloma (D4 on day 7)

**D7, Yolo Underbush, 13 **had sponsors for scarves.

**D8, Georgie Calico, 14**

**D11, Mesmer, 15. **Paralyzing poison (critical), 7 broken fingers (severe)**. **Had sponsors for 1 day food/ 2 days water and heavy medicine.

Killed: Harrow (D9, on day five) and Rosemary (D9, on day five)

**Other info**: Gamina (D7) killed by Armagnac (D1) during Day 2

Apple (D11) killed by Tesu (D8) during bloodbath

Carnelia (D1) Killed Armagnac (D1 on day 4), Bryony (D12, on day 4) and Drake (D6 on day 6)

Paloma (D4) Killed Dash (D12, during bloodbath) and Tesu (D8 finished off during the bloodbath),

* * *

**Next up family interviews! **


	33. A glimpse into the Districts

_To the esteemed Head Gamemaker,_

_When the last cannon sounded, seven hovercrafts left the Capitol for the Districts in the hope of casting some light on the characters of the seven young men and women still fighting for their lives in the arena. This is the information they gathered._

_We await your orders to engineer the final version and respectfully remind you that the interviews are to be aired at Midnight. _

Livius' lips quirked at Cantilena's lyricism. He opened the file and began watching.

* * *

**Cillian Teneber, 28 years old, District Two.**

He was the quiet twin, Martial's brother, the one who tagged along with his twin's friends, the one who had always been a close second in training. Cillian never resented his brother nor wished for another life. Peacekeeping suited him and Martial's company was all he needed. He'd never regretted a single choice he'd made.

Corsair would never settle for being second best. He had always been the pride of the family: handsome and gifted, first in both academics and training. Yet Cillian had never seen him happy.

At five, with no other young children to compare to, Corsair had wept in frustration because he'd struggled to read the thick book their father had put down to fix something on the roof.

Always a perfectionist, Corsair had alienated those who were not better than him. At nine he brought Opuntia home and from then on he never mentioned any other kid by name. He worshiped her and hated her for been better than him at everything. The number one ranking trainee was two years older than him. He couldn't compete. He lost his sleep because of it. At fourteen, Corsair made his first kill without batting an eyelash. He'd come home disappointed and probably felt cheated to this day. He'd thought the act would change him in some way, it hadn't.

When Opuntia died in the Games, something did change. Corsair lost his urge to be perfect. He slowly began to accept his failures, to accept himself, to accept their parent's compliments, to tolerate Mary and not see everyone else as weak.

Cillian believed it was more mutual obsession than love that had tied his brother to Opuntia and, against all expectations, her death had done what all of them had failed at for years: give Corsair a real sense of self-worth. The man Cillian had seen on television was a true leader and a born victor. He let no setback shake him. Cillian had rarely been prouder of his little brother.

It was the way Corsair looked at Aurora when the girl wasn't watching that filled him with dread. Anywhere else but in the Games, Cillian would've cheered, for his brother's dark eyes softened when they landed on the blonde and whispered _'I could allow myself to be happy with you'_. But this was the Hunger Games. Cillian could barely stomach watching those sequences.

He smiled politely at the interviewer who'd settled in the middle of the living room with his camera crew. The man wore a crocodile skin jacket that matched his scaly skull and long fingers. It was the most extreme example of skin-altering operation Cillian had seen to date. The Capitolite turned pupil-less emerald eyes to them and signaled the camera was now recording.

"It is five pm and here I am in Two in the Teneber household with Corsair's siblings: Cillian, Martial and Mary and his parents Juno and Gunnar." He began in the gravelly voice of heavy smokers. "We were all riveted on our screens in the early afternoon and were quite relieved to see Corsair survive that terrible ambush. We are all amazed to see he shrugged off the poison that nearly killed Mesmer of Eleven."

The twins shared a glance at the exaggeration. Cillian gave a minute nod.

"He almost lost his sight and his balance was compromised. Corsair was up because he's a fighter. He's willful and never gives up." Martial said proudly.

No point in mentioning Corsair's special training regime. Besides if they could make Eleven look bad, it would be all bonus.

"There is one thing at least he'll have to give up. Don't you think he missed the occasion to kill Aurora? After all, with Eleven still unconscious, he has no other competition."

Cillian decided he liked Caesar's interviews better. Caesar wanted to make the tributes look good. This man looked for the cracks in the angle.

"Aurora's a bloody tease. She's been latched to Corsair since the beginning because she can't deal not being the center of someone's attention, but she's squeamish about kissing him," Mary said scornfully, "she's no threat and he's a guy, so he can't help thinking with his hormones," she added, affection lacing her tone.

"Mary, please," their mother said with mild disapproval.

Cillian hid a smile. Mary had her faults but she wasn't stupid and wanted her brother back. Playing star-crossed lovers when you were a Career didn't earn you as much sympathy points as it might other tributes: Careers were tough warriors; they had to keep the sappiness to a minimum.

The journalist leaned forward. "After the first day, the Careers, led by your son, failed to find a single tribute. It was other's tributes' plans, either to find food or today's ambush, that gave Corsair the opportunity to score kills. Do you think such a passive technique will continue paying off?"

Cillian's face darkened. He itched for his weapon. Either that man was an idiot or he was purposefully disagreeable. Luckily, his parents were better composed.

"The maze was big, full of winding, treacherous paths. You have seen how the holograms that accompanied the false nighttime reduced vision. In such a setting Corsair had to first block the paths or any hunting would've been ineffective." Their father explained, irradiating a confidence that made the little Capitol man shrink back.

"I leave the strategy to the experts," he said in a honeyed voice, "do you think Corsair will seek Mesmer, since the boy fooled him about being dead? Surely he does not enjoy being played?"

"Corsair is beyond such petty ego considerations. Mesmer's tricks will not keep him alive much longer." Juno predicted with a grim smile.

No crocodile skinned freak would make them doubt, let alone admit doubting, Corsair.

Of course, Cillian was aware this interview was pointless. Corsair was on his own. A victor from Two was nothing special. Enobaria had been the 13th. They could promise the Capitol audience neither novelty nor drama. Cillian prayed for his baby brother's safe and triumphant return.

* * *

**Saphir Liber-Socket, 49, District 2**

The Head Councilor of District Two straightened his spotless mink collar. He was very happy that Aurora Feather had survived so far. He had his people ready to move in the moment Overseer Feather would have to step down. It would free a very influential position of surveillance in the quarries.

The fat man wiped his brow with an embroidered cloth, turning to the people before him: nine year old Archer Feather and Tisiphone Belvedere, the woman who had hosted the boy since Reaping Day. The two cared little about his political ambitions, but they all wanted the same man brought on his knees. Abusing one's daughter was hardly laudable in Two, but abusing a potential victor would have the Capitol demand his head. Only they had the right to manhandle the hallowed tributes.

Saphir smiled thinly as he thought about Feather, probably waiting for the Capitolites in his house, so confident about his oratory skills. The man would wait in vain. The interviewer and his crew were to come straight to the Council Office.

The interviewer turned out to be a woman. A stunning grandmotherly woman dressed in a long conservative dark-blue dress. She lent Saphir her hand in way of greeting. He kissed it lightly, masterfully masking his surprise.

"Alecto Lovelock, spokesperson of the Child Protection Center." She said in stilted Capitol tones. "I believe our awareness on sensitive society issues is never too great. I want to get at the bottom of this matter, Councillor."

"Awesome!" Archer whispered, diverting the woman's attention briefly.

Saphir smothered hysterical laughter as the boy introduced himself in front of the cameras, charming and serious-faced as only children could be. The portly man was not surprised there existed a center for the wellbeing of Capitol offspring, but that the concern would extend to Aurora? Did they have any idea of how ironic this was? Or maybe the woman did believe that the Games did not take away a parent's responsibility towards their child.

"To business Mr. Liber-Socket. I want the footage of Aurora's interaction with her father in the justice building to be replayed for all to see. I believe you have it?"

Saphir nodded carefully. This was not planned. He hoped there was no dissent in the Capitol about broadcasting restricted Games footage.

"We can watch it together while I send it to your personal address." He said.

"Perfect." She replied with another wave of her hand.

Alecto had a nasty predatory smile on her gold-painted lips once they were back in his office.

"Now I have proof. We will see how this relates to the Games. After all, that's why I'm also here."

She turned towards the camera with the ease of those familiar with spotlights. "Corsair and Aurora are the Careers we would wish to have every year and, in their wisdom, they have recognized that about each other. Aurora is a stunning woman who should be confident about her worth. Instead she is a walled-off child who wars with the demons of her past instead of enjoying her partner's company. Tell me, Councilor, it is said she appealed to you before volunteering, what happened that day?"

Saphir blinked, entranced by the woman's passion. He knew any misstep now could ruin his popularity. This was a warrior on a crusade, she would accept no excuses.

"Aurora ambushed me near my office, but aside that breach of protocol she was impeccably polite. She made it clear the Games were the only opportunity she had to escape her awful family condition and proved to me she had the skill to enter, despite her young age. As soon as we heard, I tightened security over Mr. Feather. I had to be discreet so as not to alert him since I couldn't act without proof."

"But now you can act, why is this man still in his home?"

"Because that way you can drag him out on national television, Lady Alecto."

Saphir mentally kissed young Archer. Not only was his timing and childish vindictive voice perfect, but his use of the old-fashioned title had made the Capitolite's lips quirk in satisfaction.

"Then we will, should we go now?" Alecto suggested, a gleam in her eyes.

"The peacekeepers are yours to command," Saphir said, opening the door for her.

They had elected to march up the paved road to the Feathers' house for effect, the camera crew efficiently following them. Tisiphone Belvedere spoke up.

"Many victors are damaged, it is no secret. Aurora is not just a child with a tragic youth. She is a woman who has overcome darker days than many of us can conceive. She did not let those events taint her. The Games themselves will not dull her shine."

Saphir smiled absently. He himself cared little if it was the girl or the boy who brought back glory to their district, but he did enjoy the prospect of dealing with a well-composed Aurora more than with the unmanageable Enobaria. He'd tried asking the latter a favor once. The sharp-toothed girl knew nothing of the value of good political relations.

He then let Archer explain how he had to escape to his friend Julia's with his sister on the dawn of reaping day. It was all chock-full of righteous emotions, with Alecto dumping on more than the two others combined. Capitolites always overindulged when it came to the grandiose.

The look on Overseer Feather's face when his frond door was slammed open by three armed peacekeepers was priceless.

* * *

**Grace Schrödinger, 53, D3**

Most children grew up locking the Capitol in a hidden part of their psyche and were undeniably happier for it. They pretended it didn't exist and progressed in their studies accordingly, avoiding any subject that could draw attention or give birth to polemic. Children hated injustice. It was rare to see one ask at the tender age of twelve to their new studies director "How does an oppressive elite, composed by a majority of oblivious privileged citizens, still make place for innovative research?" with curious eyes devoid of anger. Fiddle had been one of those.

Grace had never found any defiance in Fiddle's words and actions. only a sharp curiosity on how a few with objectively so little power managed to exploit so many. If it hadn't been for the girl's spontaneous kindness in dealing with her peers, Grace would have thought her pupil ambitioned to become the next evil overlord.

After seeing Fiddle, _Mercury_, in the Games, Grace believed the girl had a keener understanding of the forces that ruled Panem than many people twice her age. The direct consequence of that was that Mercury had no close friends as far as the Capitol was concerned. Her teacher was therefore one who would suffer the Capitol's intrusive questions now that the girl had survived long enough to become interesting to their color-lensed eyes.

The scientist massaged her temples with her palms, cursing orphanage solidarity for not having given the ingrate task to young Finder. Grace had no patience for those fools in frilly clothes and no wish to conceal it. Unfortunately, she was even less motivated to invest herself as much in another student as she had in Fiddle. The class of six was her last and she intended to bring six, not five, to their diploma before retiring as a tutor and concentrating on her research. She was fond of all her pupils, for very different reasons, but Fiddle had been the only one who'd, with the subtlety of an expert manipulator, had Grace reveal aspects of herself and her private life that she wasn't in the habit of sharing with students.

She had watched Mercury's interview a dozen times. The girl had displayed confidence stripped of arrogance of defiance. Grace sighed in aggravation. Somehow she had to build on the girl's angle.

A bell toll made her hand dart towards her phone.

"I've almost finished giving them a tour of the facilities, Grace. We'll be reaching the girl's workshop in minutes."

"On my way," Grace said crisply.

_Interview time. How thrilling._

They didn't disappoint, wearing clothes that had to be illegal in Three. Peacekeepers could never effectively search someone who had so many layers of crumpled cloth on their person. Grace's eyes bled from the indecent color associations.

After Capitol accented chit-chat about where the light was best and the setting more _typically Three_, the journalist finally straightened his over-large green collar and smiled inanely at her.

Grace was going to make Finder pay. She hated the vain, the nosy and the parasitic. This man was all three and arrogant to boot. She hated being saddled with the responsibility of Mercury's end-Games sponsoring with even greater passion.

"So, let's start with the freshest news: Mercury saved Mesmer from Eleven from certain death to use him as a weapon against the two remaining Careers. Her ally of two days, Georgie of Eight, was furious when Mercury carried her prize to their hideout but relented as long as they had no better plan. As her teacher, what do you think of Mercury's open declaration to exploit the wounded boy and of her use of a good portion of his medicine?"

Grace crossed her arms, a thin smile drawing itself on her pale lips. "Exploit? She saved his life and is expecting to be repaid. She will be inevitably, for Mesmer must kill the Careers to survive. As for 'stealing' the lad's medicine, he can claim all the popularity he wants, but he's dependent on her goodwill to get it from the parachute into his system. Selfless doesn't win you the Games."

The man lost some of his shine, looking almost threatened by her scornful expression and clipped words. Grace's lips quirked further. She'd seen twelve year olds with more backbone.

"So, you're saying it's natural she would use people. Georgie isn't so useful to her is she?" the man said with a sly smile.

_Wasn't he clever._

"Rest assured, you haven't reaped a raging psychopath. Mercury doesn't find joy in murder. But the moment Georgie becomes a setback, of course the girl will die," Grace said with an eye roll, "Mesmer is a killer. Georgie is kind. Kindness is good for the soul but doesn't dig graves except your own in the Games."

"You're saying Mercury will murder her ally, just like that?" the man said wide-eyed, snapping his fingers.

Grace resisted the urge to slam his flowers-smelling head against the hard wall but finally decided to play along. She stared condescendingly down at him. "Why wouldn't she?"

"It's not very kind," the journalist muttered, failing not squirming.

The scientist wondered if despite the Capitol's population of twenty-thousand, they weren't all massively inbred. There could be no other explanation.

"Carnelia was defiant for no purpose, aggressive without an afterthought and finally got killed because she never paused to really think. She died with all her severe wounds flawlessly healed by state-of-the-art medicine. Yolo is alive and has yet to be unkind to a single soul in the arena. His legs are a spider web of red scratches and he's been barefoot for two days now. How does _nice _help?" Grace patiently drew out, taking great delight in the man's squirming.

After a pause, the man took a big breath and smiled brightly in a pathetic attempt at imitating Caesar Flickerman. "Where did she learn martial arts? We were all astonished when she killed Carnelia."

"Mercury borrowed my records of the Games that she had been too young to watch when she was thirteen," Grace said evasively, wondering the same thing herself, "she is very curious and has an impressive visual memory. There is a lot a child can learn just from imitation."

"So you're saying she knows a few good moves but against Victor from Five, she has no chance?" The journalist said.

"Mercury isn't imbecilic enough to try," Grace shortly said, now fed up with the man's undermining attempts.

"Well…Good! Now, her electrical snare was effective, even if the target wasn't the one expected. Is that the average ability of electricity students like her?"

"You mean second year electro-mechanics trainees," Grace corrected with raised eyebrows, "Mercury is indeed a prize student. Most of my students could not electrocute you to death with so little material. You should see what she could've done with a real kit."

It was a lie. Most of her students could fry the man blindfolded on a bad day and while Mercury was indeed gifted, she wasn't a prodigy. Grace didn't like her pupils getting inflated heads and had no intention to flatter their egos, but the situation was dire enough it warranted the exaggeration.

Apparently blessed with a healthy imagination, the man had paled again. Grace smiled thinly again, wishing she could defenestrate him with a look.

"But… doesn't she have friends?"

The non-sequitur hardly impressed Grace. She could just picture how choppy the final interview would be, with the weak-minded Capitolite trying not to look too much the fool. "You should be happy people who socialize don't have the time to study how to electrocute you to death with material worth less than your evening meal."

That effectively closed the subject. The man finally decided he had overstayed his welcome.

Grace's eyes paused on the older cameraman's braid. Cast-away, blood-stained, more familiar dark locks were painfully vivid in her mind.

_And we lose bright young minds to this filth every year._

* * *

**Moxie Gleeb, 37, District 5**

The weather was remarkably fine for the season, the view stunning. The distinguished business woman was sitting elegantly in the kiosk resting on the tallest hill of Five's only great gardens. Her suit fit perfectly; of impeccable taste and as different as she could find from anything in fashion in the Capitol.

Moxie was a striking woman who had little to learn about making an impression. In less than twenty years, her husband and her had risen from nobodies to the social elite of the District, and now, the same Capitolites who recoiled in disgust when their hands had the misfortune to brush the skin of _those savages_ had been reluctantly conquered by their promises of prosperity. She was a queen among paupers. She had been received in the Capitol when crossing Districts could be punishable by death.

She was a mother helpless to save her son.

She had never learned to beg; she had made a point never to have to. But now, the thousand business contracts the elegant woman had signed for Genesis seemed inadequate compared to the task before her.

Tonight she had chosen to host the journalist in the place that symbolized all the Capitol could not buy: space, nature. The Capitol did not understand the value of people, but they did understand investments and profit. Victor would have to be presented as the best of seven tools, no matter how repulsive she found the idea of comparing the flesh of her flesh to an object.

None of Moxie's tension showed through her flattering make up. She smiled as her husband reached her side and sat heavily next to her.

"They're at the gates, you do the talking," he gruffly said.

_Of course._

Moxie ached to slap the dullness out of Duncan's eyes. He had no right to mourn their son while Victor was still breathing.

Her beautiful Victor, who had received only a synthetic ice pack for his chipped front-teeth and torn gums. It was agonizing just to think of the pain he had to be in, huddled against the rocks in the midst of those dreary holograms.

There was no money left. Moxie had given enough to buy threescore furnished houses in Five. It was the maximum the Head Gamemaker had allowed and represented almost the last two years' net profit. She shivered, grasping onto her husband's hand. Tonight was her last chance to help her boy.

The last seven. Moxie smiled softly at the thought.

Her composure was perfect when the Capitolites arrived. The slowness in their steps betrayed their awe for the scenery.

They were on.

"This place is spectacular! Had I known I'd have come to Five earlier," the short journalist said, clasping his gloved hands together.

"It is a terrible tragedy that not all of the Districts' wealth can be exported to the Capitol," Moxie said with a mournful expression, "but there is no reason Genesis could not construct and operate a special hovercraft liaison between the Capitol and these gardens."

The man seemed charmed by the idea and showered them with enthusiastic questions about the particulars.

Moxie was soon keenly aware of two things. Firstly the man didn't have a clue about how hovercrafts worked and was spouting enough inanities to embarrass the whole Capitol, and indeed, the sound-technician looked appalled. And secondly, if he wasted more of their precious interview time discussing the park, she would score her first kill before Victor had a chance to attempt his second. Instead she painted an idyllic scene, every family's dream, in which Capitolites could drop in Five unbothered in record time and spend their weekends breathing fresh air and running barefoot in the grass with their darling children.

"Of course, we would have no reason to keep Genesis running if our son dies. We have built all this for him and his children." She said, masking her fury beneath a distraught exterior.

She could have gut-punched the man and been less effective. A cameraman gasped. Duncan's hand was back on her wrist, both in comfort and warning. She couldn't fool her own husband.

"But… You're still young, it would be such a waste. I mean, at worst you could have other children."

Duncan's hard grip saved the man's face from irreversible laceration.

"Even in Five, we do not believe children are interchangeable goods and just _have another,_" she said through clenched teeth.

"Genesis is the only firm which could do what you said," the man asked after an awkward pause.

"Yes," the woman replied with absolute certainty. "My son has the potential to win. Consider helping him an investment for your future. Your children's future. No victor has so much to offer you."

The journalist seemed convinced but Moxie could see he was more sensitive than most Capitolites she'd dealt with. She had to have faith in her son just like Victor had faith in her to find all the sponsor money he needed. She was trembling again when the crew had finally left.

"You were brilliant," her husband muttered, "now we wait."

Waiting. She should be wiping the blood off her son's wound, like any good mother. Instead, miles and miles away, she could only wait.

* * *

**Shae Underbush, 5, District 7**

The house was full of big people. Usually Shae was shy around them, but her Daddy was there and Yolo's friend from work, Trudy, who'd visited a lot since Yolo had gone to play that scary game where kids got hurt badly and got taken by hovercrafts when they lost, too. So Shae felt better.

Her mummy hadn't wanted her to watch the TV, even if Yolo was on it, but Dasheen and Daddy had insisted she should; something about understanding enough yet not too much. She still wasn't sure what they'd meant by that. Yolo was a bit hurt but he hadn't lost yet, so that was good. To tell the truth, she'd liked the bit where the tributes were all dressed up more, especially the first one, the one with all the animals and the pretty chariots. Shae had cried when she'd seen that the losers' animals were hurt and killed too to punish them for not being winners, but Dasheen had said that it would make people who liked cute beavers sponsor Yolo so maybe it wasn't so bad. The only thing that annoyed her was that Yolo hadn't blown her whistle already. But since that also meant he wasn't into too much trouble, she wasn't that angry at him.

Shae was hiding behind Trudy's leg. Liana and her Dad were on the wrong side of the room and she didn't want to go near those funny Capitol people that dressed like the prettiest birds of the woods. Except dressing like a bird didn't look so good on people, although Shae was too polite to point it out.

Everyone went even quieter all of a sudden. Shae tugged at Trudy's pants, confused.

"They're going to turn on their cameras, everything we do and say now will be shown to everyone on TV, like Yolo's Games," Trudy whispered.

Shae gave her a little smile, rather scared at the idea.

The strangers smiled a lot and sounded a bit like birds too, with high voices that said words in weird ways. Then something scary happened. Everyone in her family tensed, well, except baby Rael. Shae cringed behind Trudy and started to pay more attention to the speaking man's words.

"Yolo now finally has a weapon, yet he didn't use it when he had the chance. Do you think he has it in him to do what's necessary to win?"

"He promised," Shae blurted out. It was such a stupid question really. Yolo didn't want to hurt people but he'd promised he'd win. In most games winning wasn't such a big deal, but in this one, everyone said it was very important that Yolo not get caught by the hovercraft who got the losers.

"I'm quite sure he did, but he also promised Bryony that he'd protect her and she didn't even make the last ten," the man replied, looking at her mum.

Shae's eyes narrowed. She didn't like his voice and he was making her mummy upset. She stared hard at Liana, wanting her to tell the man to get out. She was hugely happy to have her Dad back, but she knew Liana was the one who helped her mum best.

Liana looked very, very, angry but didn't do anything. That was weird. Shae looked down, her face scrunched up in frustration.

"No matter how crafty, the little ones will never have a fair chance against fully trained Careers. He couldn't let her starve. Two of three untrained youngsters survived a dash-and-grab operation against well-prepared adults. Many failed where my son succeeded."

_You tell him, Daddy!_ Although Shae wasn't really sure of what exactly he'd said.

They then started talking about Yolo's job in the swamps and their family. Shae liked that more, because Trudy was making Yolo sound really great and her mum hadn't tears in her eyes anymore.

It all crashed when the tall man scratched his head and asked his next question. "But, by letting a boy work in such a dangerous place as the swamps seem to be, you must be resigned already to cope with a fatal accident or illness?"

"We'd all have starved if he didn't work! None of us would die if he hadn't gotten reaped," Liana shouted, quickly grabbed by her Dad. Shae huffed. The bird-man deserved a slap, her daddy should have let Liana slap him.

"After Yolo survived a whole year in the swamps, we were certain nothing but old age could claim him. Now we live in fear. As is the point of the Games."

Her mum's voice was very soft, but Shae could see everyone had heard her and that they were afraid but not angry that she had said it. She hugged Trudy closer, feeling the woman's warm hand on the back of her head. She smiled a bit, feeling safer.

"So you don't believe your son will survive?"

Shae stared wide-eyed, awfully confused.

"If we didn't believe, we wouldn't have invited you in," Dasheen said, cold as only she could be. She was sometimes the scariest person in the family even if Shae loved her very much.

"He still has his whistle. He'll win," Shae said to Trudy, knowing it was true.

"Of course, Shae," Trudy answered. Shae pretended she hadn't noticed that the other didn't look so sure.

* * *

**Fuller Enamel, 14, District 8**

Fuller felt weedy and unhealthy-looking next to the Capitol people, even Lacie looked pale and drawn, and not only because the last weeks had been awful. No, it was just that compared to Capitol people, they all looked a bit ill.

_So pretty._

In Eight, everyone knew what kind of motives and fabrics were in fashion in the Capitol and had learned to lovingly craft the expensive clothes. They knew what dyes caught the eye in the fortress city, what colors would make their buyer's friends gasp with envy; but Fuller rarely appreciated the beauty in those ever changing over-the-top designs. He just saw the skill of the artisans. But now that he could see the four Capitolites close up, the truth was that, despite the make-up, despite the laughable clothes, they irradiated a health and a lack of tiredness that seemed inhuman to the boy. No one in Eight had skin so pretty or hair so beautiful. People weren't that tall and never got as muscled as two of the men were. No wonder the Capitol looked down on them; they were all ugly little midgets next to them.

And it was the Capitol's fault for setting low prices for the goods Eight sold.

Fuller felt the familiar bubbling of anger at the pit of his stomach. Lacie wrapped an arm around his waist, sending him an affectionate worried glance. Fuller squared his shoulders and smoothed his face. He'd always sort-of fancied Lacie, even if Georgie was the one he was closest to. He couldn't help bicker with Georgie all the time but they also talked about everything, even things that he wasn't so proud about. When it came to Lacie, he also felt the need to always look good.

They had been 'cast' as the people who would talk to the Capitol about Georgie and Fuller dreaded the questions. He now wished the interviews in the Districts had been compulsory viewing too, because he had no experience of them.

"I'll look sweet and pretty and touching. It works with everyone here, it will work in the Capitol," Lacie muttered as the crew finished getting ready.

Fuller had to smile at that. "Yeah, sounds great."

"You're on!" A woman holding a camera announced.

The most muscled of the men, who was wearing red pants that clung to his skin like water, turned to them.

"Georgie is the lucky one in these Games, isn't she? Saved by Victor from Five when she lost consciousness during the bloodbath, taking advantage of food, water and later snare material she hadn't herself collected. Then she left her allies, got lost in the maze, narrowly missed a fatal encounter with Carnelia from One and was found by Mercury from Three. Is there anything she can do alone?"

Fuller frowned, having expected a nice bubbly question like Caesar's ones. He'd thought it'd be an interview. He now realized he was supposed to play lawyer.

"Find great, dependable allies that get her far. Georgie's best weapon is getting under people's skins and leading a team," Fuller said, hoping his voice was manly enough to be taken seriously.

"No-one in her original team survived past the second day. And for strictly Games-related decisions, neither Mesmer, Victor nor now Mercury have accepted her leadership."

What a bastard.

"But they're happy to have her around and protected her. It's a skill more useful than swinging a big sword. Victor likes her, it's obvious. Georgie and Fuller argue all the time and they're the best of friends. Victor and Georgie argued all the time yet they rarely sat more than three feet away from each other." Lacie said with a brilliant smile.

Fuller doubted the magician had ever given a damn and he was deeply mistrustful of the Three girl, she liked Georgie but it didn't seem like enough. He found Victor much easier to read, maybe because he was a guy.

"Georgie isn't a practical person, I think everyone told her that already, but she keeps people focused on what's right. Victor wants to be strong and ruthless but now that Georgie's not nagging, he's huddled between rocks, muttering to himself and almost eating his synthetic ice-pack. Okay, the guy's in pain, but he's been kind of unhinged since Georgie left. She's a compass, you're lost without it," Fuller summed up.

"So you're saying the best thing that could happen to Victor now is to find Georgie's cave?

"Nah, Three would kill him," Lacie said, looking down nervously. "Victor protects Georgie because he thinks she's helpless. Three would feel rightly threatened. It's the last seven. Georgie is a bit thick, in a few weeks she'd probably realize Victor means a lot to her, but right now it's just tension between them. Everything will be over long before it evolves.

When did Lacie start having a clue about the way people's feelings worked? Fuller failed to mask his surprise.

"But Georgie would let Mercury kill Victor, like she let Mesmer poison Rosemary and Harrow from Nine."

Fuller narrowed his eyes, wondering what the Capitol man felt on occasions like this. His accented voice betrayed nothing but his wish to be nosy.

"Being dead is rather revolting too," Fuller said heatedly, "and frankly, Mercury would probably have Victor dead, or the other way around, before Georgie could act. I mean, she's tiny and skinny." He added with a small smile.

His smile died. What the hell was he doing? Telling the truth to the media about Georgie not being cut for combat? He couldn't believe he was so bad at this!

"How do you feel about Georgie not having received a single sponsor gift yet?"

Lacie laughed, her tinkling little laugh that always made Fuller's stomach backflip.

"Victor was her sponsor. He gave her food, care and shelter. Mercury is her sponsor now," Lacie said as if it was obvious, "Georgie will always find people who help her. She's very good to the people she feels she owes. If you help her and get her to the Capitol, she'll probably organize your kids' birthday parties and make them awesome. She's good with people and it does matter."

Fuller really should have shut up and let Lacie do the talking. He could imagine the new fad: people boasting about their kids having had cake with _a victor. _He wondered if it was such a good idea though, considering the questions little kids asked and Georgie's temper.

"Most people wouldn't trust their small children with a victor," the man pointed out.

So there was a bit of common sense in the Capitol. _Fancy that!_

"Georgie would never hurt a child. You just made a point of telling us it was a bad thing because she'd have trouble doing what's necessary. We've been telling you that with a bit of help, she'll be the victor your kids will grow up loving," Lacie said with a warm smile.

Hopefully Capitol six year olds were spoiled enough that they could sponsor. Fuller was confident that Lacie had them convinced at least.

* * *

**Zephyranth, 16, District 11**

Zephyranth hadn't dressed any differently than any other day. The Capitol was one huge party, or so they said, and after a few nice parties, people started to try out new things, soon illegal things. Zephyranth wasn't afraid of going too far, transgression could only help Mesmer.

Mesmer. Her boyfriend had nearly given her a heart attack with his talk of ambushing the Careers and then another one when Two had almost killed him. She'd been too stunned to react when it was finally Ten's poisoned dart who'd taken him down. Had she not spent the last years mastering her moods to satisfy her clients, she would probably still be under shock. Mesmer was the one solid thing she had held on to during her short life; the one thing she had not contemplated losing. Now she was trying to get ready, if only to be fit enough to do what she'd promised him in the Justice Building, just in case. But she'd never been reminded with such force that she was barely more than a child. A street-child, not even a house-raised one.

She was in one of her usual spots: dusty and narrow, just at the edge of town, where the streets happened to be gloomier. It didn't make the spot any more dangerous, but today it would nicely creep the Capitol people out. She almost grinned when she saw the mayor appear followed by four overdressed figures who were now filthy from the walk. Cars not fitting in the little alleys was a treat; it was nice to see the simplest things make those rich fat people look no better than them. She kept her stance against the wall until they were almost at arm's length.

"This is Zephyranth," the mayor said in the polite tones people specifically used for new peacekeepers and Capitol people. "I will be waiting on the high street." He added.

"Yes, yes. Is everyone ready here? Start recording again, Kasen."

The voice betrayed the person before her as a woman. Zephyranth hadn't been sure with all the make-up and odd clothes. She was delighted; a woman was bound to be much more entertaining.

The Capitol woman's harassed face was instantly replaced by a mask of excitement and professionalism. "Ladies and Gentlemen, welcome to Eleven! You've all heard of Zephyranth, the liberated girlfriend of our favorite magician! Liberated is certainly a euphemism in some of our minds tonight, but before we judge, let us hear what the young lady has to say!"

_How so very kind of you._

"We're all very curious about who you are, Zephyranth," she said, as the camera swiveled towards the mulatto girl expectantly.

Zephyranth leaned back against the wall, keeping the same sensual position she used to hook passer-bys. "I'd say I'm who you paid me to be, but you haven't paid me anything," she replied with a pout.

One of the camera-men, barely older than her, was already blushing. _No challenge at all._

"Surely Mesmer doesn't pay you?" The Capitol woman said testily.

"Depends what you mean. He offers me gifts sometimes, but then I suppose Capitol men offer gifts to their girlfriends too, and you're not all prostitutes."

The interviewer failed to repress a small cough. "If he stopped giving you gifts, would you leave him," she said once she was composed again.

"Would you leave your boyfriend?" Zephyranth shot back with a smile. Screwing with the woman's mind was so much fun.

"I don't think we have the same definition of…"

"No," Zephyranth cut her, now deathly serious. "The answer is no, I wouldn't ever dump him. I find it amusing that it's easier for me than for you to say about your own partner."

The Capitolite was not amused.

"Many of us were surprised, to say the least, that Mesmer would put up with your _job_. I expected you to be extremely attractive for he doesn't seem the kind of guy who accepts been cuckolded but now…."

Zephyranth shook her head. The woman was stupid if she thought being uncommonly attractive was a good thing for a girl in the streets. "This is not the Capitol. If Mesmer wins, I'm stopping. Would your man let you die if the only alternative to a death in the dirt was selling your body?"

She finally allowed herself to grin when the woman hesitated. She hoped the interviewer would drop that line of questioning quickly or Zephyranth might vex some of her more sensitive clients who wanted to believe they were special to her. She really yearned for that house in Victor's village.

"I see…" the interviewer said frostily, "how do you feel about Mesmer being at the mercy of another girl?"

Zephyranth laughed. "He's at no one's mercy! Mercury depends on him waking up to go kill people and that feisty ginger doesn't have the stomach to do more than go red from fury and glare at him. He's so brilliant at what he does that he got saved, _in the Games_, by a person who didn't give a flick about him. How's that been at someone's mercy?"

That Three was there, taking care of Mesmer while she was half a continent away, was unforgivable and infuriating, but the Capitol woman was wrong to think it was because Zephyranth was afraid Mesmer would grow fond of the other girl.

"Point granted. And do you think he'll seek Victor out when he wakes up?"

The sixteen year old sighed. "Mesmer killed Orvis during the Bloodbath because Four was useless. If Mesmer needs Victor he'll find him. Otherwise he might decide it'd be polite to wait for someone else to kill him and not hunt him himself. Mesmer will kill the girl who saved his life when she gets useless because there is only one victor anyway. If you want a kind guy to win the Games, change the rules."

"Surely Mesmer cares about some things? You, at least."

"We knew each other before our hearts had to grow cold. Of course we love each other." Zephyranth said with a genuine smile. "Mesmer loves performing too. He loves his crowd, he worked so hard to teach himself to be a great magician. Other than that, he loves life. That's why lots of kids die quickly in the streets while we're still here talking to you."

"And what does Mesmer do when he's not performing?"

"He spends time with me, sometimes we just climb on a roof and watch the sky, day, sunset or night. It's always full of things to see. Otherwise we go to the library, learn some stuff. There isn't much time free really."

"That's actually sweet," the woman said, almost as if to convince herself.

Zephyranth stood up and pushed her styled hair behind her back, losing much of the glamor and looking more the normal teen. "You know, had we been given a choice, we'd rather have had parents, be at school somewhere nice and worrying about stealing small kisses without my father finding out while complaining about not been given enough money each week. But Daddy's dead and so here we are."

The final touch seemed to work. The woman lost her 'I smell something bad' look and stared squarely at her, looking almost sad.

Hopefully the interview would give Mesmer the little help he needed to pull through.

* * *

**Author's Note**

**Some things that were said last chapter have not been referenced at all in this one. That is because the Gamemakers, to keep up the suspense, avoid showing on the day-long live movie the parts where the tributes are seriously planning. They just show another's camera footage on the screens. (That's also what they do when a tribute has a conversation deemed rebellious with another. Only the gamemakers, some privileged people and the mentors have access to the full camera footage.)**

**Mercury's discovery about how to access the waterfall (whether she is right or wrong) was therefore not mentioned at all. I figure few people will notice anyway but I wanted to make clear that nobody mentions it for a reason^^**


	34. Night 7: Tears, bubbles and a feast

**Aurora, 16, D2**

Corsair shook himself awake. Aurora enjoyed the view as he slowly stretched. He had received only pain relief and some disinfectant for his wound, just like she had. They were stiff and uncomfortable, but it would have to do. The extra bottle of water they'd finished in seconds had been more important than better medicine. Water in the last seven. Enobaria had probably exhausted all their sponsor money.

From the way his eyes focused on their surroundings, Corsair's vision seemed reliable, but Aurora could see he had a killer headache still. She was glad their mentors had sent an antidote to the poison but also jealous at the money they were spending on him. She could feel the seconds ticking by and hear a nagging little voice reminding her their alliance was living its twilight days. She decided to grant herself the luxury of denial for another day.

"It's still night, the true night. The moon is still high," Corsair said in low tones.

They'd fallen asleep mere hours after the ambush and had been woken by the bitter cold. It could now be anywhere between 10pm and 5am.

Aurora flexed her fingers and pulled herself up. "What now? We're all stuck up here. It doesn't make sense."

The Gamemakers outdid themselves year after year to offer Panem Games full of unseen action and moving drama. Pauses and rest were not part of their vocabulary and a last 'cull the untrained tributes' day would be so unoriginal that Aurora didn't even bother to consider it.

"They will be shivering in the caves. Ten arrived shortly after Eleven and Five and I doubt they were allied. They must be close."

"Let's hunt Mesmer down then," Aurora volunteered with a smile. She didn't care if her training told her to part ways now, she wanted Corsair close.

Corsair smiled back. "So you are fond of me."

They were inches away from each other. With her head tilted upwards, she could see the desire in Corsair's dark eyes. His hands reached slowly for her slender shoulders.

_Such large hands, with the power effortlessly lift her up. _

_Like her father had done so many times without complete disregard for her consent. Pretending that deep down she wanted it too.  
_

A spike of dark, instinctive fear shot through Aurora. She was about to let him take control. It was a trap. She stepped back, away from his male touch. She couldn't trust him, she couldn't trust any of them.

Corsair's eyes flared with fury as his lips twisted in a grim sneer.

Aurora's foot twisted as she took another step back in the darkness. She fell to the floor, trembling with fear.

Corsair's accusing voice was heavy with disgust. "Look at you! A trained Career, whimpering like a child. How could your reflex still be to cower, Aurora? It was never about me, was it? You just wanted to play tough. To prove you were stronger than your abusive father. Fancy that, you failed. You're damaged and broken."

Aurora tried to stand, too hurt and guilty to find the adequate words. Corsair pushed her backwards, his expression cold. He grabbed the supplies and left.

"Corsair, that's not true," she shouted desperately, once she'd found her voice.

There was no one to answer her. Just the echo of her quivering musical plea.

It wasn't true. It had been at first, in the train, but not now. She did care, he was the first man she'd cared about like that. But it would mean surrendering control, taking the risk that he'd... She….

Alone with her weapons in the cold cave, Aurora sobbed in her hands.

She finally stood up. She was in the Games, in the last seven. It didn't matter. She'd lost her chance with him. Corsair had wanted to kiss her and his she'd tried his patience once too many times. Maybe it was better this way. The Career in her told the confused girl to go away and steeled herself. Just six people to kill. She had killed more during her training years. It would be easy.

She walked, there was nowhere to go. The moon provided just enough light to make finding one's way among the rocks exhausting instead of impossible. She struggled to pay attention to her surroundings.

_Fancy that, you failed._

She'd never felt so worthless.

**Georgie, 14, D8**

She'd wracked her brain for hours, sometimes grabbing a few hours of bad sleep, huddled against Mercury and Mesmer for warmth. The boy was feverish now but, from Mercury's expression, he was healing rather well. The black-haired girl was making earplugs in sleeping bag fibers to prepare for the explosion. Georgie found herself hoping her ally would turn out a poor healer, despite the expensive drugs Mesmer had received.

_Nothing. Not one idea. _Her body screamed for water and gently pressed for food; her brain wouldn't focus and was running circles. She wanted Mesmer out of the cave. She was worried for her family, for herself. She hated the Capitol. Useless, distracting thoughts.

Mesmer moaned in his sleep. Georgie stiffened, anger bubbling in her veins. Victor was alone now. Maybe she should go to him.

He'd kill her, it was the last seven. And if he didn't, he'd tell her they'd have to kill other people, just like he'd killed Four. She'd still be in the same mess. She couldn't keep running away. She eyed the throwing ax next to the bag. Killing Mesmer would be so easy.

Mercury was staring at her in the gloom, worry on her tired features.

Georgie breathed in sharply. "You might be useful to Mesmer, I won't be," she said with cold certainty. "He knows you'll have to stick with him even if he kills me. He knows you won't kill him before he gets the Careers."

Mercury blinked but didn't answer. Georgie could almost hear her think.

"What," the ginger snapped after a tense pause.

If anything, Mercury looked even more forlorn. "What are you doing here, Georgie," she asked softly, her exhaustion apparent.

"_What?_"

"If I die, can you at least try to win? You have to change to win, we all changed. Can you?"

Back to that again? Georgie didn't like the urgency in the older girl's tone. She hated the question, the Capitol and their Games. She couldn't think, she needed water.

"I'll see on the spot, won't I," she said through clenched teeth, lowering her eyes.

Mercury's eyes filled with tears as her jaw tightened. "Georgie, I can't put my life on the line for you if that's the best you give me."

"I know I'm a burden," Georgie snarled, "I know! Stop telling me what I must do!"

As if alerted by a sixth sense, Georgie's anger fled and was replaced with paralyzing fear.

Mercury bolted. A firm hand was on the ginger's mouth, another on the back of her head. Something soft squashed against her lips and teeth, Georgie swallowed out of instinct.

"I'm so sorry, Georgie," Mercury said brokenly. She pulled a trembling black-stained hand away from the girl's mouth.

So that was what the kiss of death felt like, the fourteen year old dizzily thought as the world went black. Oddly, she only felt relief.

**Yolo, 13, D7**

Some girls grew puffy eyed and red-cheeked, the blotchy kind. Others, creatures that were rarely seen but often gossiped about in jealous or awed whispers, cried beautifully, just disheveled enough to look fragile.

It figured the Career before him would lose none of her charm when she was upset.

The starlight had woken him. The stars were too bright, as if someone wanted to give them light without making the sun rise. It had made sense when he'd spotted the blonde Career; of course the Capitol would help them hunt... Except she was very bad at hunting apparently. She'd been slow, looking at nothing, even passing the cave Three, Eleven and Eight were in.

Yolo had carefully taken out the darts when she'd sat down, puzzled to see her alone. Maybe her boyfriend was still too wounded. The young boy doubted it. But she'd started crying, and Yolo, already uncertain, put the dart away.

He jumped down from his hiding place and walked up to her, his unarmed hands well in sight.

"Want a hug?" He said. His voice was croaky from thirst.

The blonde sniffed and turned her striking amber eyes towards him. Apparently even she couldn't sniff beautifully. Yolo didn't find her so deadly looking anymore. He took a step closer.

"It's the last seven. You shouldn't be here," she said in a small voice.

"I'm where I'm needed, that's where everyone ought to be," Yolo replied with a kind smile. Braver than he felt, he put an arm around her shoulders. She was warm and soft. Yolo almost forgot how thirsty and sore he was.

She tensed. Before Yolo knew it, soft lips were upon his, pulling back after having delivered a firm kiss.

Yolo froze, wide eyed and confused.

The gorgeous Career chuckled wryly, her eyes glittering with tears. "You're harmless, it isn't so hard."

_What, kissing him? Should it have been?_

"Does that make me an easy guy?" Yolo joked, trying to cover his sudden embarrassment.

The girl's condescending glare was amused. "No. But maybe I should have started with a thirteen year old."

Yolo finally caught on.

"Corsair's hard to kiss? Sure he's mighty tall, but I'm pretty sure he'd bend down for you."

_Oops, wrong thing to say._ The Career put her head in her hands again.

"Enough," she muttered, looking cold and deadly again. "There should be nothing appealing about kissing a future corpse."

Yolo disagreed. Everyone died. But he decided to keep that opinion to himself and to refrain from asking the girl in his arms is she still needed him to solve her kissing problems.

Since he wasn't saying anything, the Career pulled away gently and stood up.

He flashed her an apologetic smile. "What's your name again? I'm Yolo."

"I know. It's Aurora," she said, looking a little annoyed at him.

"Adopt me until the last four? I'm really fed up with being alone," the boy said with a hopeful grin. He hoped she wouldn't see how desperate he was for company. The silence had started whispering to him in the cold night. He was terrified.

Aurora softened making Yolo wish he had the boldness to steal a kiss.

"Tag along, then. And thank you, Yolo."

Yolo grinned again. "I'd say anytime but try not to cry too often."

She cuffed him.

A parachute, who'd fallen unseen in the darkness, almost bumped into Yolo's head. He squinted to read the note.

'_The interviews earned you a present. The money came with specific instructions and this message:_

"_There is indeed no reason kindness should be less valued than kills. Well done, Young Man._

_Seraphim, Aleta and Phoenix Rowancrown."_

_Try not to destroy these._

_Blight.'_

Yolo's lips twitched, even if he'd rather have those rich people complain about the Games than buy him stuff.

Aurora had unwrapped sturdy but flexible spiked black shoes. After a pause, she handed them over.

Yolo slowly tried them on his battered feet. They fit perfectly, even if walking with spikes felt weird. He wondered how he could possibly climb with them. Spikes didn't fit into rocks.

"Those are weapons too."

Yolo's eyes widened, not having thought about it. He took a closer look at the spikes, they were very sharp.

A cannon sounded, making them both jump.

"Corsair," Aurora whispered.

It wasn't. Yolo gaped, not believing Three had poisoned Eight, Georgie Calico, just a couple hundred yards from where they were.

"_Georgie, I can't put my life on the line for you if that's the best you give me." _

"_I know I'm a burden! I know! Stop telling me what I must do!"_

"_I'm so sorry, Georgie." _

Another group of fluffy goats murdered.

Yolo felt lost, lost because he'd seen the black haired girl be nice to him mere hours before and even more because a part of him could understand Three's action.

"Mesmer is with her, he can't fight. We can get them," Aurora said, a knife now in her hand.

Yolo looked down. What did he want? How far would he go for it?

He'd promised Shae. He'd promised them all.

"I know where they are," he said in hollow tones, feeling dirty.

"Where?"

There was no bloodlust, just kindness in Aurora's tone. Yolo knew she was a Career, but he was glad she wasn't treating him like one.

"Not far, follow me."

They'd walked about half way when something hard knocked them of their feet.

"Cover your head," Aurora screamed.

Yolo's legs buckled as an invisible wall rammed into them. The loudest noise he had ever heard was tearing through the arena.

Yolo grimaced in pain, it was deafening, shaking his whole body, making the world around him collapse. He dared open his eyes when he heard a loud _THUNK! _a few feet above him.

He elbowed Aurora, curled up right next to him.

They were falling.

A golden bubble separated the two of them and the few things they still had from the chunks of rocks flying everywhere and the huge puffs of dust the explosion had created.

"We're going somewhere new," Yolo said excitedly.

The stars revealed solid ground rapidly approaching. The two teens grasped each other in fright.

They rebounded on the green grass.

Yolo caught another flash of gold in the distance as the dust began to clear. He wondered if it was Three and the magician.

"No point in killing us all in an explosion," Aurora said, taking deep calming breaths.

"This was awesome," Yolo said, bouncing up and down, relishing on the feel of the soft grass on his ankles. It was much warmer too.

No cannons. Yolo's smile broadened.

A booming voice filled the skies.

"Welcome to the feast, Tributes. You have a little under twenty-four hours to enjoy it before the arena turns against you. May the odds ever be with you!"

"Feast?" Yolo repeated happily, his stomach grumbling loudly.

"Look around you," Aurora said, a little laugh lighting her whole face up.

They could see the inside of the mountain the maze had been on, a blast hole letting starlight pool all around them. Trees. Short, loaded fruit trees, bushes with berries, pretty, sweet-smelling flowers. Nothing poisonous. No weird, sticky substance to keep them from climbing the trees. Water, the sound of running water and farther away, a waterfall, rumbling and powerful.

Yolo grinned at Aurora. He scurried up a tree, a little hindered by the spikes on his new shoes but grateful for the protection they offered his tender feet, and grabbed a handful of apples. From the top, he found the waterfall, shining silver in the night about a mile away. Paths snaked all around it, almost to where the maze had been. Other trees were concealing the nearest stream, but the noise was unmistakable.

"Let's go wash them." He said, throwing a couple of apples at Aurora as he jumped down.

They stripped to their underclothes, jumping into the river, drinking and washing themselves at the same time. Yolo tried not to stare at the girl. They didn't make them like that in Seven.

"A good thing it wasn't a joke, about the arena being friendly now," Aurora said, biting into her second apple and reaching for the raspberry bush next to her.

Yolo's good mood was dampened by the sight of raspberries. He'd really believed he could protect Bryony back then. "They don't need jokes. They'll still make it hard for us later."

**Victor, 18, D5**

He'd received painkillers during the night. The last seven. Family interviews.

_Thanks, Mum._

He'd finally been able to get some sleep.

The cannon shot jerked him awake.

He heard nothing past the anthem. His eyes were focused on Georgie, drinking in her last seconds of life.

Georgie was dead.

_Dead._

Victor smiled grimly. What had he been thinking, that she'd see he was right? Gush at how smart he was? Happily come and kill people with him? He'd been such a fool, wasting time with her!

_Then why did it hurt so much?_

He growled. The last six and he was standing there moping. Pathetic. He would find them. He would _kill_ them.

Hungry for a victim, lightheaded form lack of food and water, all other thoughts gone from his brain, he began to hunt.

The blast stunned him. He pounded on the walls of the golden ball he was trapped him before it dumped him on the grass.

The feast order had him smirk. The arena might not be hostile, but he certainly was.

He barely paused in the lush orchards, having seen another ball land near him. He tore a branch heavy with apricots from a tree and ate ravenously with his back teeth as he searched.

He finally found his prey. Two, his back to him, alone, filling his water bottle. The Career hadn't heard him, maybe the explosion had screwed up with his hearing. It didn't matter. District Four had been killed in seconds, a nine in training who hadn't even been wounded when he'd attacked. Careers were overrated.

Victor paused only because he wanted a clean kill, without being wounded himself. He was a yard away when Two turned burning dark eyes towards him.

"I'm not at my best, or you'd be dead by now, but are you sure you want to try it, Five?"

Victor froze as the Career stood up. Six feet six of well-drawn muscles that made the well-toned Victor feel scrawny. Two's mocking glare stripped Victor of his bravado. This was the man he'd wanted to take on bare-handed? The man who'd already snapped two tributes' necks?

Victor turned around and fled. Two's soft chuckles making his cheeks burn in shame and fury. He stopped alone under the stars. Alone with his nightmares. He sat down next to the water, finding his willpower ebbing away. He drank, hoping the weariness would flee when he'd finally eaten his fill.

* * *

**Author's note:**

While stylistically, the last chapter was the hardest to put together, this one was hard for content. There is no Hunger Games without harsh decisions.

**Please review**.

On a side note, the Corsair/Aurora arc is not over.

* * *

**Living 6/24:**

*****: severity of wound reduced by painkillers, not real medicine.

**D2, Corsair Teneber, 18**: wound in side: (medium*****) paralyzing poison: (medium: killer headache) had sponsors for painkillers, some water and antidote (not 100% efficient) against the poison.

Killed: Orvis (D4, during bloodbath), "Mouse" (D5, during the bloodbath) and Rachel (D10, day 7)

**D2, Aurora Feather, 16** wound in shoulder (medium*****) had sponsors for painkillers and some water.

Killed Algor (D3, during bloodbath), Hawk (D6, during bloodbath) and Chester "Messenger" (D10 during Day 7)

**D3, Mercury Kernel, 17**: Had sponsors for scissors, bandage pins, a spoon and a tube.

Killed Carnelia (D1 on day 6) and Georgie (D8 on Day7-night)

**D5, Victor Gleeb,18.** Teeth broken (light*****). Had sponsors for 1 day food/water, a synthetic ice-pack and painkillers.

Killed Paloma (D4 on day 7)

**D7, Yolo Underbush, 13** had sponsors for scarves and spiked shoes.

**D11, Mesmer, 15**. Paralyzing poison (severe but rapidly healing), half-healed right hand (light). Had sponsors for 1 day food/ 2 days water and heavy medicine.

Killed: Harrow (D9, on day five) and Rosemary (D9, on day five)

**Other info:**

Armagnac (D1) killed Gamina (D7) during day 2

Tesu (D8) killed Apple (D11) during the bloodbath.

Carnelia (D1) Killed Armagnac (D1 on day 4), Bryony (D12, on day 4) and Drake (D6 on day 6)

Paloma (D4) Killed Dash (D12, during bloodbath) and Tesu (D8 finished off during the bloodbath)


	35. Day 8: Hunt, MindGames and Resolve

**Day Eight, part 1**

**Corsair, 18, D2**

He'd lost Five. He knew the boy was cowering somewhere, the tracks were obvious. He'd lost him near a stream. This whole place was covered in streams, Corsair had crossed a dozen. This was probably the deepest yet, over one yard deep.

Corsair splashed some water on his forehead; his headache only marginally better and his ears still ringing slightly from the blast. Couldn't they have sent him basic painkillers instead of an anesthetic for his side wound? He needed his head more than he needed to sprint!

The valley was small, just over a mile across. Noises echoed on the walls but the aside from branches snapping he'd heard nothing for a while. Maybe they all were sleeping in well-fed bliss.

He'd catch them.

Dawn was rising. They wouldn't be able to hide. He hoped to catch Eleven before he would wake. He wished Three would just drown him. Surely the girl was not so foolish as to trust the sneaky magician. She had seemed clever back in the Capitol.

The pink morning light reflected itself on the dew and water. Corsair narrowed his eyes. A trail of water began on the other end of the stream, as if someone had walked out with wet clothes.

Bola in hand, the Career pursued.

Five's coughing would give him away as soon as he was close enough.

Dawn slowly gave way to a beautiful morning.

Corsair paused, a satisfied thin smile on his handsome features. Five had broken into a run, tired of their chase. Footprints a child could follow were leading towards the edge of the valley.

Five was a fool. He should have gone near the center or towards the edge with the waterfall, where the noise would mask his steps and where the chances of running into other tributes were higher. Did he really think Corsair would give up?

Corsair wasn't so foolish as to speed after him. He walked, keeping his eyes on his surroundings as much as on the boy's tracks.

He found himself hoping for a glint of blonde hair. He scowled fiercely. That woman was not worth a minute of time. She was weak, they all were.

**Mesmer, 15, D11**

"Morning sunshine."

Morning? He was in the Capitol. He had to be. He wasn't dead and a stranger was taking care of him.

Except it didn't make sense, the accent was wrong and the voice was tantalizingly familiar.

"It's probably closer to two pm actually. How you slept through the explosion, earplugs non-withstanding, and me dragging you here, I can't imagine. Oh and don't lean on your right hand, those fingers are still fragile."

He could smell oranges. Ripe, juicy oranges. His recognized the feel of a sleeping bag on his skin. His hand ached, only one hand. Constant rumbling reached his ears, loud enough to unsettle him.

"Earthquake?" He muttered. Had she mentioned an explosion?

"Waterfall. We have supplies to feed a town. It's a feast. And it'll remain calm and peaceful until tonight. Then the arena will turn on us. Rise and shine, Mesmer."

The magician finally placed the pleasant flowing tone and educated diction. He cracked his eyes open and smiled broadly, resisting the urge to snort at this odd twist of fate.

"Why Mercury, it's been so long," he said joyfully.

They were near a cluster of trees, concealed by bushes, less than a foot away from a small quiet stream. He put a finger in the water. Cold.

A pile of oranges had been gathered next to his feet.

"Indeed the separation was near unbearable," the girl replied in a voice as genuine sounding as it was fake.

He wouldn't have recognized her. Her hair was much shorter and tangled and the darkness around her eyes aged her in a very unattractive way. Only her blue eyes had kept their lively gleam, but there was anger in them that hadn't been there before. Her uniform was torn but clean. So was his, he realized. His supply of nightlock was gone, unsurprisingly.

"What is it with you and having me naked," he asked, exaggerating his shock.

"Cleaning your uniform only to have your unwashed body pollute my air didn't appeal to me. Rest assured, I didn't molest you."

She'd washed him, kept him warm after having dunked him in the stream and saved him in the first place. Why in heaven would she do that?

"I remember killing two of your allies," he said brightly.

"I remember killing Georgie and I daresay I was quite fonder of her than you were of Rose and Harrow."

Mesmer didn't let his surprise show. _Interesting._

"I daresay you had to be. Why kill her then?"

"To win."

Mercury's amiable disposition had morphed into genuine amusement. Mesmer doubted she'd found killing the, albeit annoying, ginger amusing.

He frowned at the implications of her statement. "So I'm alive to help you win. I'm touched you trust me so."

"Corsair and Aurora are still alive. You're a double-edged sword but a sword nonetheless."

Mesmer grinned and bowed at the compliment. He had to sit back down quickly as his head began to spin. So weak. Yet his body was cooperating and the pain in his hand was tolerable. Too tolerable. His left hand was fully healed.

"And who is this sword to kill," he asked, wondering if there were less than six of them now.

"The two Careers."

The magician's jaw tightened at her lack of cooperation. He forced himself to relax.

"Who else is alive? How long have I been unconscious?"

"I might tell you, if you behave."

Mesmer smiled, the innocent heart-melting smile that concealed his iron will to survive. He wondered how long it would take him to crack the girl's mask.

"Very well. How did you kill Georgie? She was my ally for a while after all."

Mercury looked amused again. Very amused.

"I had no idea how long nightlock kept. Now I know a week barely lessens the poison's potency."

Mesmer's eyes darted to the girl's makeshift belt. He couldn't see if it was empty. He forced himself not to appear suspicious.

"A merciful, swift death."

"It's murder. I don't have an excuse and don't want one," she said her smile not reaching her eyes.

"Wise of you. Tell me, do you still have your electric trap? From what I saw, it was really efficient," Mesmer said in innocent awe.

Mercury laughed, stifling the noise with her hand.

The magician clucked his tongue in dismay. "You're frustrating," he said, dropping the pretense.

"And you are predictable. You won't goad me into crying or spilling information I don't want to share. I was there, Mesmer. I doubt Drake's death is something I'll ever forget," she said somberly.

Was that a challenge? She really believed that she had no wounds he could rub salt on and that she was dealing with everything?

"All right, what's my next question going to be then?"

Mercury shrugged. "Something like 'your mum would be very proud of you.' "

Mesmer winced. He should have thought of that.

"Orphan to orphan, I find that insulting," he replied stiffly.

"At least_ I_ knew my parents."

Now she was just being mean.

"Admit it," Mesmer said, "I'm better company than Georgie. She's depressing."

That stopped the black-haired girl.

"You're safer. But I'm glad she was there," she muttered, her hand absently brushing hair off her shoulder.

Her wounded shoulder which now looked almost healed.

"We both have pretty good Capitol support," he pointed out, stung by the 'safer' part. How was Georgie more dangerous than him? Surely her talks of fairytale morals weren't that frightening!

"Just you. I used your medicine. It was unspecialized surgical nanocells. I left you enough to heal your left hand and to set your right well enough you wouldn't be in too much pain. I figured you'd feel crushed by debt if I had selflessly saved your life taking nothing in return."

She'd even managed not to let sarcasm seep into her voice at the last. Mesmer decided she was much more fun than Victor.

He had no ideas what nanocells were, but they sounded expensive. He probably had little money left. He smiled at the girl from his seated position. She would be easy to work with because, like it or not, she thought in the same way as he did. She was just burdened by guilt.

"Thank you for caring, Mercury."

"Now presents," the girl replied with a thin smile before throwing a bag at him.

A full water bottle, four throwing knives. Mesmer's eyebrows shot up.

"You place huge stock in my sense of honor," he whispered, not believing his luck.

"Not honor, Mesmer, class. You are many things but coarse isn't one of them."

This time Mesmer's smile was genuine.

"You were near the top of my kill list, amazing how life turns out," he said.

"I'm still in the top five," Mercury said with a wry smile.

Some people really didn't know how to take a compliment. And the idiot had just told him there were just six of them left.

"So, we're separating at the last two?" The green-eyed boy said.

Mercury chuckled at his dark humor, an edge to her laugh.

Her arm darted forward.

Mesmer realized then how sluggish he still was. _That filthy poison!_ He couldn't believe Ten had gotten into her mind he would help her, not with the Two girl getting up and only one throwing ax to defend himself.

The strong slap threw him to the ground. He barely caught himself with his good hand.

"Had to get that out of my system. We're good now," Mercury said tightly, standing up and throwing him an orange.

Mesmer caught the divine-smelling fruit and glowered. He did grant that anyone else would have tried to kill him minutes after he had started goading them. But that had _hurt_.

"Is Victor alive?" He asked mildly, sticking a piece of orange in his mouth. He already knew the answer of course.

Mercury scratched her head. "No idea."

Mesmer smirked. He had hours to make her talk. He had lived a life of pretense and appearances for years. She could not hope to compare. She'd slip, eventually.

**Aurora, 16, D2**

Blond hair ensnared her fingers, blocking their path. She couldn't undo the tangles. Corsair had the only comb. Aurora's lips trembled as she began to braid her silken locks. What a fool she made.

She and Yolo had rested after having established no one was in their vicinity, eaten and slept again, much more than was necessary. She should have been hunting for hours by now.

Yolo was eating prunes and peaches as if he'd never seen any before. Maybe he hadn't.

The beauty of the bountiful haven they'd, literally, landed in was lost on her.

"What do Careers do after the last eight," Yolo asked as she stood up.

Aurora sighed. "Technically kill anyone they find."

She wouldn't have any trouble killing Yolo. He was no threat at all. It didn't hurt to keep him around. At least that's what she told the little Career voice telling her she wasn't playing the Games right.

"Corsair didn't kill you. He can kill any of us on his own," Yolo said cheerfully, spitting a prune pit out.

Aurora's eyes were far away. Indeed he could. He'd gone against everything he'd been taught. For her.

"I need to find him," she decided. She had to set this right.

"Kiss him quickly, before he feels threatened."

"You think it's funny?" The girl said in warning tones.

"It's cute." Yolo's grin turned wry. "You're probably aware of what they say of Careers in other districts."

"Yes," Aurora felt no guilt at having killed Messenger. Training had made sure she wouldn't, but the conversation they'd had on the second night was still vivid in her mind.

"Must I kiss Corsair not to get killed either?"

The girl chuckled at Yolo's light but worried tone. She couldn't meet his gray eyes. Yolo had been kind beyond reason and she couldn't repay him in any significant way. All she had were weak promises she couldn't keep.

"Stay out of sight, I'll distract him if he spots you."

Distract Corsair. A small blush bloomed on her cheeks. There was no rhyme or reason to the fluttering in her chest as she thought of her darkly handsome district partner, but it felt great.

"It's really cute."

There was something sad about Yolo's eyes. Aurora kissed his cheek, wishing she could erase his pain. Killing him would do the trick. She vowed to make it fast.

"You're cute too," she whispered.

The young teen cleared his throat in an endearing display of male embarrassment.

"I wish my brother grows up to be like you," Aurora said, this time truly meaning it.

Yolo met her eyes, an unfathomable expression on his face. He lightly took hold of her hand.

"Come, let's find your man."

"It'll rain soon," he added, sparing a glance at the threatening dark clouds overhead.

Aurora huffed in annoyance. To think they'd have begged for rain just a day ago.

**Victor, 18, D5.**

He'd run for hours, sprinted towards the nearest stream big enough for him to swim down. He needed to lose Two. Two couldn't run long distance with his side shredded as it was.

Yet Victor was sure Two was still on his tracks.

It belatedly occurred to the boy that streams would be bigger towards the waterfall, not away from it. He'd picked the direction at random and now felt idiotic. He ran for two hours, blessing his daily training and cursing his lacking sense of directions. All these trees looked the same. He never seemed to be taking the shortest path. Finally, he found a deep stream. This time he paused to think and decided to swim up. It was harder but the stream would get narrower and shallower again were he to go downstream.

He froze when he heard voices, realizing a stream was a terrible place to be caught in. They seemed to be moving away. He couldn't make out the owners, only that there were at least two.

Rain droplets splattered on his face.

He shot the sky a furious glance. His cough was bad enough already. He'd been counting on the sun to dry him up. The sun was still high in the sky, still visible despite the dark clouds. _The sun_.

Victor frowned. Looking at the sun didn't warm his face. It didn't even really hurt his eyes.

He closed his eyes, looking for the direction the real sun was in. Low. It was close to sunset, maybe six pm. They'd replaced the sun for an artificial one, a brighter one.

Why? A longer day to make up for the fake nights? That would be too kind.

He had to swim up some more. He finally stepped out of the water when the stream had gotten too strong. He realized the ground was soaked through. He was a city boy, but he knew a bit about water on fertile earth. He dug with his hands, finding the earth very soft. He'd dug a hole as big as his foot when he hit something solid. Something water proof.

Digging around the nearest bush, he realized it was a pot-plant, with the pot concealed in the thin layer of ground. He was now confident every single tree there was in a pot.

There was no earth to soak the rain up. The water was rising.

It couldn't have been much more twelve hours.

_Those lying bastards!_

He had to find higher ground fast.

* * *

**Living 6/24:**

*: severity of wound reduced by painkillers, not real medicine.

**D2, Corsair Teneber, 18**: wound in side: (medium*) paralyzing poison: (medium/light: killer headache) had sponsors

Killed: Orvis (D4, during bloodbath), "Mouse" (D5, during the bloodbath) and Rachel (D10, day 7)

**D2, Aurora Feather, 16** wound in shoulder (medium*) had sponsors for painkillers and some water.

Killed Algor (D3, during bloodbath), Hawk (D6, during bloodbath) and Chester "Messenger" (D10 during Day 7)

**D3, Mercury Kernel, 17:** Had sponsors for scissors, bandage pins, a spoon and a tube.

Killed Carnelia (D1 on day 6) and Georgie (D8 on Day7-night)

**D5, Victor Gleeb,18.** Teeth broken (light*). Had sponsors for 1 day food/water, synthetic ice-pack painkillers.

Killed Paloma (D4 on day 7)

**D7, Yolo Underbush, 13** had sponsors for scarves and spiked shoes.

**D11, Mesmer, 15.** Paralyzing poison (medium/light), partially healed right hand (light). Had sponsors for 1 day food/ 2 days water and heavy medicine.

Killed: Harrow (D9, on day five) and Rosemary (D9, on day five)

**Other info:**

Armagnac (D1) killed Gamina (D7) during day 2

Tesu (D8) killed Apple (D11) during the bloodbath.

Carnelia (D1) Killed Armagnac (D1 on day 4), Bryony (D12, on day 4) and Drake (D6 on day 6)

Paloma (D4) Killed Dash (D12, during bloodbath) and Tesu (D8 finished off during the bloodbath)


	36. Day 8: Dark waters and Tragic reunion

**"Day" 8, part 2  
**

**Mercury, 17, D3**

The sun was high in the sky and, despite her now unreliable internal clock, Mercury was certain it should have been sunset. If only because she had a shrewd idea of how fast Mesmer's medicine was and because the "sun" hadn't moved in hours.

Maybe the Capitol wanted their finale well lit.

The magician had an extraordinary constitution. He was just coming down from the tree he'd climbed, doubtless not wanting to ask her for more food.

"No Careers," he announced, taking a massive bite out of an odd-shaped orange-ish fruit.

"Want to stretch your legs and go looking for them," Mercury asked, not being against the idea herself.

Mesmer waived his juicy prize before him. "After I finish this."

He swallowed and turned his piercing gaze towards her. "Do you think your friends will still want you when they realize what you've become? That there is no going back?"

As usual, Mesmer's words were spoken in the tone of a curious child. Mercury willed herself not to react, but this time it was harder, for this was one question she'd pushed at the back of her mind. Mesmer was a relentless predator, sniffing its prey for weaknesses. The girl couldn't afford to show any.

"You are very fortunate to have found unconditional love in Zephyranth, Mesmer," Mercury replied, her tone sharper than she would've liked.

The magician's smile faltered. He lowered his eyes and bit into his fruit. Mercury blinked in shock. Had she hit a nerve? Was he insecure about his girlfriend? Or was he just faking vulnerability so he could strike harder later? The girl shivered as a raindrop fell on her neck. The 'sun' was still very visible, but the threat in the dark clouds could not be mistaken for a passing drizzle.

Their verbal sparring had gone on long enough. "Are you fit to go?" She said.

Mesmer threw away the big pit he'd been gnawing at and hastily washed his hands in the stream before stretching.

He winked at her before throwing head back. He landed on his feet after a perfect backflip. A knife was still quivering in the two-inch space between Mercury's feet.

The girl paled drastically, forgetting to breathe. Trust Mesmer to make everything into a frigging show.

"Hand-eye coordination, check," the magician said smugly, retrieving the knife.

"Let's go somewhere dry," Mercury finally said, forcing her wild heartbeat to slow, "the ground around the stream seems prone to flooding."

The drizzle turned quickly into heavy rain and, even yards away from the streams, they were soon trudging through mud.

"We'll be knee deep in mud soon. We need to go higher, right now," Mesmer ordered, his skinny arms hugging his soaked body, an edge of hysteria in his voice.

Mercury raised an eyebrow at his uncharacteristic display of emotions. A ghost of a smile slowly graced her lips. So he couldn't swim. Fascinating. Now he needed her alive to get him to safety. She felt some of her tension evaporate.

"The base of the waterfall is half a mile away. You won't find higher ground other than there."

"You know the way," Mesmer said, gallantly letting her pass, "I humbly suggest you keep the ax in one of your hands. The bags will be tough to open wet as they are."

"True. Thank you, Sweetheart," Mercury answered, overtaking him with her prettiest smile.

She enjoyed their banter, it kept her alert and focused. She could not mope about previous events if she had to school her expression and swiftly find counters to his wounding inquiries.

_Do you think your friends will still want you?_

Her real friends could be counted on two digits and Mercury had chosen them decent enough they wouldn't let her down in her greatest moment of need, even if she had changed too much. She refused to let doubt creep into her mind.

Her feet seemed to be sucked in by the ground every time she took a step. That half mile was looking longer and longer as minutes went by.

"Mesmer, don't run. You'll twist your ankle."

"Fertile ground doesn't get muddy like that! Mud doesn't stick like that! It's a trap, our feet will be trapped and water will rise," Mesmer snapped back, slowing only fractionally.

Mesmer came from Eleven, orchards. He had to be right.

"As long as we have shoes, we can kick them off. Take big strides and use the branches to help you up. Even if the rain gets worse, we have almost a quarter hour before the water reaches your knees."

The rain was getting worse.

_A little under twenty four hours_. Right.

"Unless the streams all overflow."

"Mesmer, I can swim for both of us, relax. Running on this ground is insane. Use your ears, we're close."

"Just don't want to catch a cold so close to the end. Now you've used up all _my _sponsors, I'm on my own."

Mercury huffed, inwardly relieved the boy was controlling his fear. "The fact you're alive to complain should fill you with immense gratefulness."

"I'm so sorry, you're absolutely right, Mercury. You're so selfless!"

Mesmer's performance of grateful and awed was top notch. Mercury itched to slap him again. She restrained herself. She was using him. Of course Mesmer would dutifully remind her, like he dutifully reminded her of _anything_ unsavory he could think about.

"What if the Careers have separated? Do I still get half a cookie if I only get one?" Mesmer said, turning hope-filled eyes towards her.

Mercury frowned. She hadn't thought about that. Not that she could force Mesmer to do anything.

"Depends. They'll all be at the waterfall anyway."

She had to use her own knife to dig into the trees and push herself forward now. The water was reaching their knees and the mud was growing stickier by the minute.

"There is soon going to be stuff in the water. Living stuff," Mesmer predicted through clenched teeth.

"Throw your shoes away as soon as we're near the waterfall. It's safer to climb barefoot," Mercury said, fear beginning to grip at her stomach.

A hundred yards to go.

"Is that Yolo with Aurora?" Mercury whispered, pointing at the two moving shadows reaching the first platform, twenty yards above the water level.

"They're busy climbing, move," Mesmer hissed from behind her.

"Drop the bag. We won't spend another night here. Drop everything but the weapons, remove your shoes and get on my back. I can't see the ground anymore and the trees stop here."

A huge wave came crashing upon them as soon as Mercury had started swimming, doubling the amount of water in the valley. She could swim laps without trouble in the Web's pool. Here, she struggled to stay afloat.

_It's the last day! _She chanted in her mind, forcing herself to hold on. The thought made her smile.

Inch by inch, they gained ground, having been thrown almost in the right direction. At least Mesmer had the good sense to keep his arms away from her neck. The water tasted salty on her lips. Salt water was good; it was easier to swim in. Mesmer mimicked the way her legs moved, for the first time very silent.

She was almost behind the waterfall when Mesmer's hold on her tightened painfully.

"Hurry! Something is moving towards us and it isn't human," the boy said, his voice trembling.

A spike of adrenaline shot through her. Her arms were lighter, her legs renewed. Swimming faster than she had ever attempted, she cut through the last yards of stormy water, her heart hammering painfully in her chest. She was almost crying as they reached the rocky wall behind the waterfall, soaked to the bone. On the side opposite to where she'd glimpsed the other two tributes, they began to climb.

She threw her useless belt off. The water had washed the last of the nightlock away. Mesmer had kept only his pants, wide-eyed terror still obvious on his face.

They climbed. It wasn't hard.

_As soon as you glimpse the Careers, get away from him. _Mercury reminded herself, leading the way. _He only has four knives. He won't waste them on you, not if the Careers are in sight._

She should have been terrified, instead her heart was light. One way or another, it would be over soon.

**Corsair, 18, D2**

That Corsair knew how to climb trees. That big streams were not a good place to go because there were no trees to shield one from sight seemed to have slipped Five's mind. His little feints were amusing to watch. Taking a much shorter path, Corsair could hear Five curse and cough as he came out of the water. Corsair had to kill him before the rain became a problem. He could see a flash flood coming a mile away. Gamemakers never made it rain without a purpose.

Five was running again. Corsair pursued at his own pace, not disheartened in the least, his headache now back to reasonable proportions. His prey was going towards the waterfall, where they all would end up. What did irk the Career was that Five had the worst sense of directions. For the first time, Corsair considered giving up the chase. The boy would drown anyway if he kept at it.

The mere idea of giving up was highly unappealing. Corsair stayed on the trail, giving himself another ten minutes to find the other tribute.

A few minutes later, he finally heard a splash.

He saw Five stand up, mere yards from him, grimacing as he forced his leg out of the mud and took another step forward.

"Hard on the muscles isn't it?" Corsair said condescendingly, himself barely tiring despite the pull he was exerting on his wounded side.

Five started, breaking into another run. He quickly fell back in the knee-deep muddy water.

Weak. Some revealed it later than others but they were all weak.

Corsair heard the wave before he saw it. He was pulled underwater, the current almost overturning him. Pushing on his arms with all his might, he reached the surface and gulped a mouthful of air. Victor was swimming for the waterfall. Maybe thirty yards away.

_Was that Eleven nearing the waterfall? On Three?_

Corsair memorized the direction they were taking and concentrated on Five. The others had too much lead already.

Five was a powerful swimmer, better than Corsair who couldn't overwork his right leg.

The Games had never been fair.

Corsair realized his throat was raw from the water he'd ingested. _Salt_. He felt amusement bubble up in him. That changed everything.

The Career took the cooking knife from his weapon's belt and threw it. The wound he made was pathetic. Five didn't even cry out. But the small knife had cut deep enough rivulets of blood began to mix with the water around him.

Corsair had studied all the Games. The audience's tastes didn't change. Gamemakers were predictable. Letting Five go, he swam as fast as he could towards the safe shore surrounding the waterfall.

A dark shape appeared in the water. It ignored Corsair, speeding for Five.

Sharks, drawn by the scent of blood.

Five's screams soon cut the air. A cannon blast tore through the storm like thunder, putting an end to the once handsome boy's agony.

As he pulled himself out of the water, Corsair hoped he would earn the kill point. He began to climb, making sure his grip was very steady on the rocks. The climb was child's play, but a big rock thrown from above could still knock him back into the water. He reached a big platform of grass and stone that dug deep into the cliffs, maybe a quarter mile across. The paths above him were too exposed to risk climbing now, and apparently led nowhere.

A figure emerged from the rocks, weapons well in evidence and still sheathed. Soaked and smiling shyly, Aurora was the sexiest sight Corsair had ever beheld.

His bolas were in his hand before he'd taken another step. He was a Career, she was in his way.

"Didn't you want a kiss, Corsair?" The woman before him asked, a wistful shine to her amber eyes.

Her knives would fly faster than his bolas, but if he was closer, the odds would be in his favor.

_You're sure you're not getting closer to kiss her? _a mocking voice said, interrupting his dispassionate calculations. He let his hand fall to his side and slowly walked up to her, his eyes drinking in her every feature.

"It's just us, it won't be for long," Aurora whispered.

It was the last five. He respected her enough to trust she wouldn't use his feelings for her to trap him. Gently, he lifted her chin with two fingers. The same fingers that had snapped two young women's necks mere days before. She was trembling, a smile gracing her lips.

He leaned in to kiss her.

Aurora sighed against him as their lips met, a hand pressing against his chest. Winning the Games didn't seem so important anymore.

The handsome Career gently pushed her back, not allowing himself to lose sight of his surroundings more than a couple of seconds.

"You one-upped my old man in less than two weeks. I'm impressed," she said with a small giggle, her eyes moist.

"You're a pile of mush, Charming," Corsair said, failing to keep fierce satisfaction from radiating on his face.

The last five.

For the first time in years, Corsair had to repress tears of rage.

"Three and Eleven were climbing on the other side," he said, grasping Aurora's hand.

"Our last battle side by side," the young woman answered, her eyes glinting with determination.

His answer came out as a gurgle.

_You didn't pay attention! _

Why was Cillian shouting at him? Corsair thought dimly. Wasn't his brother far away?

**Yolo, 13, D7.**

He had dug under a boulder with his spiky new shoes to make a small hole to hide in instead of staying where Aurora had told him to.

She would never put his life before hers. He was alone again.

He tried not to think too much about it.

He'd taken the darts out of their little bag but the poison was all dry and crusty. They wouldn't work now. He'd thrown them away. He had dug so he could also see on the other side of the boulder.

He held his breath as Corsair appeared, afraid he'd still hate Aurora, that he'd want to keep hating her to be able to kill her. Afraid he'd spot him, close as Yolo was from the couple.

His lips bloomed into a wide smile as he saw them kiss. Even the Capitol couldn't destroy some moments of true happiness. He tensed as they took a few steps in his direction, now almost close enough to hear his breathing. He couldn't help grinning as he saw them holding hands.

Time slowed.

His smile turned into a grimace of shock and horror as he saw Corsair fall, blood foaming from his mouth, a knife sticking out of his neck.

A primitive blood-curdling scream burst from Aurora's lips, piercing through Yolo like shards of sharp glass. His eyes flew back open as the scream was cut short.

A gasp of pain escaped the girl's lips as she feel on her knees, a knife in her chest, the other in her lower stomach. She collapsed on the ground, her honey locks blocking Yolo's view.

Yolo instinctively jumped out of his hideout, every fiber of his being screaming at him to run.

That's when he saw him. The green-eyed magician, less than a yard away from Aurora, his hand reaching for one of the knives he'd thrown.

Aurora. She had been Yolo's first kiss.

Gripped by a surge of madness, Yolo leaped feet forward, terror twisting his features.

Eleven twisted his body towards his assailant, slashing at him with his last knife but cutting only air.

Spikes dug into the dark-skinned boy's back. He fell under Yolo's weight, his eerie green eyes widening in shock as he recognized his attacker.

The blond kicked the magician's head, feeling skin rip and bones snap.

He dashed to Aurora's side, his brain struggling to process what had just happened. Her eyes were still open, but her breathing was shallow and she hadn't moved.

"Aurora? You're safe, it's just you and me," he whispered.

Her hand twitched next to where he was lying. He grasped it gently in his, lifting it to his tear-stained cheeks.

With surprising speed, the Career's trembling hand jerked out of Yolo's and fastened itself around the boy's neck. Yolo gasped in surprise and pain.

"I'm still alive," a cool voice said from behind them, "Yolo didn't mean it was the last two. Don't bother, Aurora."

Aurora's hand dropped back down. Yolo then knew with chilling certainty that if she had not been so weak, he would have been a corpse. Aurora was a Career, a Career who'd thought it was the last two and that the Capitol would heal her.

Yolo stood paralysed in fear. She'd tried to _kill him_.

"S… Sorry, thank you, Yolo," she gurgled, blood staining her full lips. Her eyes lost their desperate gleam, they were almost warm as they met Yolo's. Her whole body shuddered before going limp.

Yolo's exhaled in anger and pain. His lips were shivering uncontrollably. He felt sick to the core.

"Why did you save Eleven?" He said, wishing this nightmare would just end.

There was no answer. The answer was obvious really.

Two cannon shots tore the air, each a knife in Yolo's stomach. At least there would be no anthem now.

He didn't move, waiting for the blow to come.

Nothing.

He stood up and turned to face the voice.

A pair of pale blue eyes was staring into his.

Three was as still as a statue, water dripping slowly from her dark hair.

* * *

**Intense no?^^ Please review.**

* * *

**Living 2/24:**

**D3, Mercury Kernel, 17:** Had sponsors for scissors, bandage pins, a spoon and a tube.

Killed Carnelia (D1 on day 6) and Georgie (D8 on Day7-night)

**D7, Yolo Underbush, 13** had sponsors for scarves and spiked shoes.

Killed: Mesmer (D11 on day 8.2)

**Other info (tributes to the left listed in order of death):**

Tesu (D8) killed Apple (D11) during the bloodbath.

Armagnac (D1) killed Gamina (D7) during day 2

Carnelia (D1) Killed Armagnac (D1 on day 4), Bryony (D12, on day 4) and Drake (D6 on day 6)

Paloma (D4) Killed Dash (D12, during bloodbath) and Tesu (D8 finished off during the bloodbath)

Victor (D5) killed Paloma (D4 on day 7)

Sharks (Capitol) killed Victor (D5) during Day 8 (part 2)

Corsair (D2) killed Orvis (D4, during bloodbath), "Mouse" (D5, during the bloodbath) and Rachel (D10, day 7)

Aurora (D2) killed Algor (D3, during bloodbath), Hawk (D6, during bloodbath) and Chester "Messenger" (D10 during Day 7)

Mesmer (D11) killed Harrow (D9, on day five), Rosemary (D9, on day five), Corsair (D2 on day 8.2) and Aurora (D2 on day 8.2).


	37. Finale: Showmanship and Freedom

***Drumroll* Ladies and Gentlemen, the finale!**

* * *

**Livius Ostrovski, Head Gamemaker, POV**

It was eight thirty pm and a million pairs of eyes were riveted on their screens.

Tension was high in the command room. The two tributes stood frozen, their backs to the waterfall, their gazes locked.

"They don't look too keen on killing each other," Cassandra shrewdly pointed out.

Livius frowned in consternation. Yolo was an unknown value but the girl had proven she could kill in cold blood. Why was she been difficult now? A dragged out last two wouldn't do at all, not after such an emotionally charged evening.

Of course he was prepared for such an eventuality. Uncooperative tributes were more the norm than the exception.

"Cortés, tell the hovercraft to land and prepare the course."

"Yes, Sir. Forty seconds until the first path is dug."

The mustached man raised the microphone linked to the arena speakers to his lips. "Mercury and Yolo," Livius began, his voice booming in every house in Panem, "for eight days you have faced darkness and tortuous grounds and survived through wits, ability, and sheer strength of character. There is a hovercraft waiting for you at the top of the waterfall. The hovercraft will carry only one to the Capitol. The arena may prove more hostile than your opponent. May the odds ever be with you!"

Yolo grinned at Mercury who flashed him a hesitant smile.

"I've closed the dam to reduce the waterfall noise. Mutt ready to be inserted at your mark," Eloise announced.

As soon as the rocks to their left sunk in the ground, revealing a steep path snaking upwards, the tributes were off, running at breakneck speed.

"Change the music to something more rousing, Cassandra," Livius ordered, "perfect."

"Eloise, mark," he added.

The boy was quicker on his feet, now almost at the base of the rocky path.

The cameras pulled back, revealing a black wolf muttation the size of a bull eating up the distance between him and the straggler.

"Last live survey indicates no marked preference in the crowd. Yolo gained fifteen percent just in the last ten minutes."

Indeed. Who'd have thought the lad had it in him to kill Mesmer? It helped he'd done it for the beautiful Aurora. _So tragic,_ Livius thought, with a hearty dose of cynicism.

The dark-haired tribute had stopped, her eyes on the beast. "Aster, I need claws!"

Livius glanced at the girl's sponsor money. A sizable sum; her mentor had been more than careful.

"Midas, put bladed gloves on sale, make Aster spend everything."

The man's golden mustache twitched in anticipation as Mercury swiftly slid the weapons on. Would she truly tackle the beast head-on?

A rough cliff was now separating Yolo and the hovercraft. Seventy yards of slippery rocks and roots. He expertly began to climb.

The wolf was almost on the girl. She seemed so frail and breakable in comparison, despite the six seven-inch long steel blades on her fisted hands glinting in the light, that Livius was afraid it would be over in seconds and ruin the show.

The tribute broke into a run. In the mutt's direction.

The beast leaped. Mercury simultaneously let herself slide on the floor, disappearing under the huge airborne black form.

It howled in pain and rage, twisting its body away from the blades that had cut deep parallel gashes on its underbelly. The wound hardly affected its speed.

The crouched girl was violently thrown to the ground, a thick furry paw pressing down on her chest as the wolf lunged for her neck.

She raised her unhindered arm with blinding speed and screamed.

Against all expectations, the bull-sized wolf froze, its legs buckling.

Mercury wriggled out from under the agonizing creature, pushing its head and paw off her before pulling a bloodied and limp arm out of its mouth. Her other arm was clutching her chest.

Obvious teeth mark marred her right wrist and forearm.

Midas whistled in appreciation.

"I want her to have a chance at catching up. Keep the suspense up, collapse the cliff, bottom-up," Livius said, a hungry smile lighting his features.

Slowly, the rocks began to crumble beneath Yolo. The boy accelerated, keeping a good lead.

Another part of the cliff collapsed to reveal a much easier, if steep, path to where the hovercraft was waiting.

Her face twisted in pain and her right arm limp by her side, the girl sped towards the shortcut, a flinty determination in those blue eyes. Soon, she was at the same altitude as Yolo and gaining ground.

Agile as a squirrel, a panting Yolo reached the top of the crumbling cliff.

"Mercury Kernel just gained a ten percent lead on polls with her last stunt," Cassandra said, her wry voice denoting her experience at dealing with the ever-changing fancies of the Capitol audience.

"Collapse," Livius ordered.

The rock Yolo was standing on fell from under him. The tribute leaped, grasping a protruding root. His feet thrashed as he desperately sought more grip, his eyes riveted on the cliff edge, just out of his reach.

The root cracked under his weight.

All the cameras were on him.

A hand appeared on the screen, latching itself on the young tribute's arm. He was slowly pulled up to solid ground.

"Why did she do that," Eloise exclaimed, gaping.

"I think she's asking herself the same question," Antonio muttered.

The girl seemed both appalled and triumphant.

The music changed to something slow and ominous.

"The rocks down there looked painful," the tribute said with a small smile.

The boy was looking at his feet. "Sorry I left you to the mutt."

"Wake up the grass," Livius instructed not wanting to return to the stalemate of two tributes inexplicably unwilling to kill. It was always a risk when two non-Careers ended in the last two.

Cassandra switched the soundtrack back to an epic symphony.

As if they had heard, the two tributes' eyes were riveted on the three hundred yards of green grass separating them from the now visible hovercraft. Within seconds, they were running again.

Spiked vines seven feet high shot out of the ground. The closest ones darted towards the tributes.

Yolo's agility was something to marvel at, he dodged and jumped, unmindful of the energy it took, and yard by yard, grew nearer to the hovercraft.

Xerxes and Midas had taken to cheer in tandem at each of his better dodges.

Mercury was nimble herself, but slower and more careful to spare her energy. Her blades cut the whip-like plants as much as she dodged them.

Livius had no favorite, he just wanted this win unforgettable.

"Be ready to stop the vines, Cortés, I don't want two corpses," he warned as the two tributes avoided simultaneous strangling attempts.

The girl stopped, awkwardly hacking at an incoming vine. Her strength was quite obviously waning.

"Is she giving up?" Eloise said, her painted lips pursed in disappointment.

Crying out in pain, the seventeen year old had dug a blade into her right upper arm. Livius winced as blood spurted out. The girl looked close to fainting.

"We lost her tracker," Xerxes announced.

"The computers are blind to her now, the plants cannot target her anymore!" Cortés said. "Do I reveal the pits?"

The girl was sprinting unsteadily towards the hovercraft, unhindered now and gaining on Yolo. Her ragged breathing more labored with each second.

"No. if she doesn't faint, she's good," Livius decided.

"If tributes start messing with their trackers..." Cortés mumbled crossly.

Cassandra put a soothing hand on his arm. "I doubt a tenth of the audience figured out that's what she did. They don't even know about the trackers."

"It's the last two! Who gives a damn," Xerxes said, his eyes riveted on the screen.

"The boy's still in the lead. Speed up, Yolo," Antonio said eagerly.

The blonde's head darted to the side as he heard the girl approaching. He took an object out of his pocket, ducking out of an aggressive vine's way, and blew in it.

His face was red from effort but Livius mistrusted the expression in his gray eyes. It was the look of someone who'd had an epiphany.

Mercury spared him a glance, only to instinctively catch the whistle with her unhurt hand.

"Give this to Shae, winning would still be dying, just to go in someplace worse. I'm not going anywhere bad. Just don't forget," he shouted, flung to the ground.

This time, he didn't make an effort to get up and let the vines ensnare him. They wrapped themselves tightly around his limbs and neck, almost covering him completely.

Yolo's tracker flashed red on the main control panel before he even screamed.

"He'd have been a bit wild and uncensored for a victor, but they do all learn," Midas muttered, a little put out.

"He wouldn't have made it," a thrilled-looking Eloise said, clapping her hands together.

The girl had barely slowed at Yolo's words, but it was obvious she had heard.

Soon, she was in the hovercraft. Pale, soaked in her own blood and grimacing in pain. She sat at the pilot's feet.

"Thanks for the claws." Was all the tribute said, her lips barely moving, before closing her eyes.

The twenty third cannon blast resounded in every district.

"Well, well, _well_!" Cassandra said with a grin. "Livius, I believe we made the annals."

Livius let out a theatrical sight of relief. He couldn't wait to organize the recap with Caesar.

* * *

**Take a deep breath.  
**

* * *

**The tributes' version.**

**Mercury's POV**

She knew what she had to do. She had the strength but her heart stayed her hand.

Yolo was thirteen, cheerful and loved. She could save him and end this nightmare.

She stood unmoving. She couldn't kill him. She didn't want to die.

Their eyes were locked, twin pleading stares, yearning for a means of survival that wouldn't come at such high a price.

The announcement put an end to their stalemate.

Mercury felt like weeping in relief.

She was cowardly enough that she smiled at Yolo. Cowardly because one of them would still die, because she would do her best to ensure it was him. But she wouldn't have to kill him herself and that made her pathetically happy.

She soon could see that, no matter how hard she pushed them, her legs would never match the younger teen's. She chanced a glance backwards, feeling strange eyes on her back.

A mutt.

She was the prey and would never reach safe ground in time.

She needed weapons fast.

"Aster, I need claws!"

**Yolo's POV**

He was quicker, of course he was. Mercury was a girl and not used to tough physical work.

The waterfall next to him covered her words but told him he had a good lead.

Her never looked back as he kicked his shoes off and began climbing the slippery vertical cliff. It was harder than any tree he'd climbed in the swamps, but he knew he could do it. His hardened feet and calloused fingers found the best grips without trouble as he slowly began his ascent.

A beastly roar made him freeze. He winced at the scream of pain that soon followed.

_You promised. You have to go home._ He told himself through gritted teeth, forcing himself up.

He couldn't help her, unarmed and so far away.

He slowed when there was no cannon for a long time.

_Bad idea_. Beneath him, rocks began to fall off, as if they'd been held together by glue and now the glue was falling off.

_Was anything in the arena real?_ Yolo thought angrily, going as fast as he dared.

He tore his eyes away from the cliff when he heard fast shallow breathing to his left.

_She's alive!_ He thought, relieved. His smile died, realizing what the Gamemakers giving her a shortcut meant for him.

The rocks were falling too fast. Now putting speed over safety, he forced his tense arms to use roots as levers and cut his feet on the smallest of grips to propel himself up. He was pushing his body beyond endurance. His head swam as he struggled to breathe.

So close. The cliff's edge was so close.

**Mercury's POV**

She's never thought she'd one day be able to withstand such pain.

He chest felt caved in ever since the mutt had stepped on her. Every breath was like walking through a wall of sharp thorns. She'd also thought she'd lost her arm. She'd been surprised see her wrist was still attached to the rest of her body, because she certainly couldn't feel it. It was as if someone had hit her right shoulder with a searing hot frying pan.

Her legs moved of their own accord up the path, one step after the other.

Mercury kept her head down, afraid she would collapse if she lifted her eyes and saw how far she was from her goal.

_One more step, just one more and it's all over._ She told herself, willing her body to accept the lie.

She breathed in deeply, the stabbing sensation in her breast making her gasp.

Light-headed and stumbling, she almost snickered. _What a wreck._

Flat grass.

She raised her head.

The hovercraft, not so far, in the grass. It was just grass.

She could make it.

Loud panting just under her caught her attention.

She finally noticed that the cliff was collapsing.

Yolo was desperately clutching a root, tearing it out of the rocks. A one hundred yard fall.

Before she could form any conscious thought, she was on her stomach, her hand the only thing keeping Yolo from falling.

She blinked. She really should let him drop now.

Yolo's terrified gray eyes were riveted on her face.

Her lips twitched and she pulled the boy up, exhilaration making the pain almost bearable for a second.

_Let the Capitol do the hard work. _

"The rocks down there look really painful," she said, the twitch on her lips blooming into a small smile.

**Yolo's POV**

His body was on fire.

The thorny vines' aim was just good enough to force him to dodge in the most tiring way possible every time one went near him. Which was every four or five steps, at most.

He was ahead again, despite feeling like the slowest of snails.

He gulped down air, which felt more like fueling the fire than helping at all.

So close to home.

Somehow he kept going.

The girl screamed again.

He could see her in his mind, so much blood everywhere, her hair all tangles but her smile true.

He owed her.

He owed his family.

He was furious and sick. The Games were a trap. There were no right choices.

Duck under a vine, jump and dash to the side, duck again. He wasn't even thinking about it anymore.

His brain froze. He could hear her, wheezing not far behind.

How had she done it? No mutt had earned her a shortcut this time. Did they want him to lose?

He grasped Shae's whistle, desperate for any kind of support. He willed his legs not to betray him, finding against all odds the strength to roll to the side, scramble back to his feet, and take off again for what seemed the hundredth time.

Against all odds.

'May the odds ever be with you!' Capitol voices sing-sang in his head.

The hovercraft.

Mercury, almost next to him, running with none of the grace that had accompanied her movements the other times he'd seen her, probably thinking the same things he was.

It wouldn't be _him_ going home.

Not because it would mean Mercury dying, but because of the Capitol. He'd be theirs. All the victors were theirs.

_We are all puppets for the Capitol_. He'd cheerfully told Gamina during the Chariot rides.

He blew the scented rough whistle. The smell of home, of songs and truth.

He would be no puppet. He would not be caged in their web of death and lies. He would not draw their attention on his family. Never. They played with all they could find like little children, destroying everything and laughing because they couldn't understand.

He wouldn't smile for them again. He was done with their Games.

Gamina, Bryony, Rachel, Aurora. He wouldn't supper with the criminals who'd taken them away.

His mother's sad eyes were at the edge of his vision.

He hoped they would understand. They'd have to make Shae and Rael understand. He hoped they would be happy.

He threw the whistle to Mercury.

**Mercury's POV**

The vines aim was too good, she could feel her strength ebbing away.

_Vines aim? How?_

_Trackers. _Her memory supplied_. The trackers they injected in your arm just before the Bloodbath._

A spike of agony shot through her as she dug the chip out with her gloved hand. The pain soon faded in the background. Her arm was slick with blood, she felt lightheaded and bulky.

She had to stay conscious!

One step, just one more step. Failure was not an option.

Grass under her bare feet. No monster-plants out to get her. Blood in her mouth. A lot of blood.

Just one step.

Yolo's voice made her head turn, something hard landed in her hand.

She stumbled on, uncomprehending. _A whistle?_

"Give this to Shae, winning would still be dying for me but in someplace worse. I'm not going anywhere bad. Just don't forget," Yolo shouted.

Mercury missed a step but didn't let herself fall. Any fall would be her last; if she slowed she would stop and never make it out.

She couldn't understand what Yolo had said, the words were ringing, meaningless in her ears. Only the end. _'Don't forget.'_

_Later._ She vowed. Later she'd remember and try to make sense of it. She didn't have the energy left.

Somehow the grass gave way to cold metal under her feet.

She let herself fall. Feeling nothing but the pain.

She wanted to go home, to forget.

She would be going to the Capitol.

Aster was in the Capitol.

"Thanks for the claws," she mumbled before letting darkness take her.

* * *

**This was both heartbreaking and liberating to write. I hope you didn't feel cheated by the Game's end.**

**I think this is a great ****place to review.** (seriously, great. I'd find it disrespectful if you don't review, especially for the loyal lurkers who have silently stuck with me for over 160k.)  


**Don't worry, just because the Games are over, it doesn't mean there won't be anymore action, the next chapter most certainly isn't filler or gratuitous post-game angst.  
**

**For those of you who have trouble finding inspiration for reviews:  
**

Who was your favorite character(s), why?

How do you feel about Mercury winning? What do you think of her?

Who was your least favorite character, why?

What did you think of the arena? The maze, goats, blowing up, feast and flood.

Did you have a favorite lines/scenes?

Any further comments?**  
**

* * *

**Living 1/24:**

**D3, Mercury Kernel, 17:** Bitten/cut right arm (severe), Broken ribs (severe). Had sponsors for scissors, bandage pins, a spoon, a tube and bladed gloves.

Killed Carnelia (D1 on day 6) and Georgie (D8 on day7-night)

**Other info (tributes to the left listed in order of death):**

Tesu (D8) killed Apple (D11) during the bloodbath.

Armagnac (D1) killed Gamina (D7) during day 2

Carnelia (D1) Killed Armagnac (D1 on day 4), Bryony (D12, on day 4) and Drake (D6 on day 6)

Paloma (D4) Killed Dash (D12, during bloodbath) and Tesu (D8 finished off during the bloodbath)

Victor (D5) killed Paloma (D4 on day 7)

Sharks (Capitol) killed Victor (D5) during Day 8 (part 2)

Corsair (D2) killed Orvis (D4, during bloodbath), "Mouse" (D5, during the bloodbath) and Rachel (D10, day 7)

Aurora (D2) killed Algor (D3, during bloodbath), Hawk (D6, during bloodbath) and Chester "Messenger" (D10 during Day 7)

Mesmer (D11) killed Harrow (D9, on day five), Rosemary (D9, on day five), Corsair (D2 on day 8.2) and Aurora (D2 on day 8.2).

Yolo (D7) killed Mesmer (D11, on day 8.2)

Thorny vines (Capitol) killed Yolo (D7, on day 8.3: finale)**  
**


	38. PostGames 1:Just blame it on the rebels

**Thanks for all the feedback on the last chapter. **

**My dear Guest 'Can't sue me', your logic is faultless, us poor authors are at the complete mercy of your goodwill when we toil long hours in the tenuous hope of obtaining feedback. I hope you relish that as much as your review inferred.**

* * *

She shifted in the all too comfortable bed, light filtering through her closed eyelids.

Her arm stung.

Stinging was nothing to be alarmed of. It was odd if anything: feeling no pain. No strained muscles or tired feet nor even cracked lips or a burning throat. It was almost as if nothing had happened.

The smell was wrong.

She knew that smell. Capitol sheets. She'd noticed it on the first night after training.

The memories were too vivid for a mere night terror.

Mercury's eyes flew open. Not so much by conscious thought, no. Her mind was telling her to keep resting, to pretend she was asleep, to enjoy what comfort she could. It was her instinct that shook her awake, like an electric eel latching itself to her body. An instinct born of eight days of stiffening at the slightest hint of danger.

Anything reminding Mercury of the Capitol was danger. This was not due to the Games; it had been ingrained from birth.

She was alone except for the avox near the door. The young man was reaching for the handle.

"Don't get them yet." Mercury whispered.

She stood up, her silk nightdress leaving her arms bare.

Her eyes focused on the huge black stain on her bitten arm. The jagged scars left by the mutt seemed now part of a black wolf tattoo that covered her whole forearm. A tattoo she hadn't had when she had left Three. Stylistically a gorgeous fierce wolf. A _tattoo_ nonetheless.

Mercury sighed softly. They couldn't have just removed the scars, no? Did they think she would have missed them if they'd left her arm unblemished?

She found she didn't really care. They had carved up her soul; what was Capitol ink on her skin?

The young woman staring back at her in the mirror was an advertisement for the efficiency of Capitol medicine. It was insulting. Rosy cheeked and rested-looking, a disbelieving Mercury checked her eyes for make-up. There was none. She felt empty and yet the mirror painted her as radiant.

Her hand went up to her hair. It had been cut and shaped into an asymmetrical mid-length cut that was all but classic. It wasn't ugly. It was elaborate. It was Capitol. And Drake's blood would never completely wash off, no matter how expensive the new luster to her raven hair had come. Were those _dark blue highlights_?

She didn't look like herself.

And why not? She didn't feel like herself. Maybe it was better like this. Hair she could change back anyway.

Empty. She wondered if it was a defense mechanism. She had no intention to test the theory by pondering the events of the last days. She was confident there would be dozens of people all too happy to do it for her.

She nodded to the avox.

Aster entered within seconds, taking long stiff strides, his dark eyes never leaving her face. Dark bags marred his aquiline traits; his skin face drawn as sick man's. His presence alone was nevertheless enough to make the young woman's spirits soar.

"I'm sane, I think." Mercury said with a mirthless smile, warmth flooding unbidden in her blue eyes.

Her mentor gently took her tattooed wrist in his hand, eying it critically. "I'm very glad to hear that."

"Better than sharp golden teeth." Mercury commented.

The man's silken voice was thick with understanding as he pulled her into a hug. "Well done." He whispered in her ear.

Mercury felt tears prickle in her eyes as she clung onto him. She almost felt safe there, she could almost believe it was over.  
It wasn't over. Not nearly.

"Get off, or I'll get your shirt soaked. What high-state function am I to attend now?" Mercury said in clipped tones, willing her emotions away.

Aster squeezed her briefly, his expression as dark as she had ever seen it.

"There is one single chariot in the arena, for your triumph. Although the animals of all the last five tributes were kept alive. There is to be an auction tomorrow. Want a couple of bears?"

"Nah, but those beavers are pure awesome though." She muttered, her eyes wide and unseeing.

It had been so easy to fence words with Mesmer mere hours after she had discarded Georgie like an useless plush toy to which she'd been childishly attached. So easy to play the same game with Aster now, discussing the beavers who been fortunate enough to outlive Yolo.

Yolo. Strangled by those animated vines, so close to the end. Why had the boy given up? He had killed for the first time mere minutes before and he had to hate that she would die, even if they'd barely interacted, but it couldn't be that. His own family didn't deserve to mourn him. Surely he'd promised to return. Yolo had been a free spirit, maybe it had been the instinct of the bird about to be caged forever. Maybe he'd preferred to be remembered as he was.

She would never know.

She shook herself.

She'd better find something to do with her life other than mope, otherwise she'd just as well should have let Yolo win.

"Where is Dante?" she asked, her voice devoid of emotion. Moments alone with Aster, even in such a colored luxurious bedroom, was a too painful reminder of happier days.

"Being tactful. Get in, Old Man." Aster said, without raising his voice.

Dante's too-white smile almost hurt her eyes. Her lips twitched as he pulled her in a bear hug.

"It is better when your tribute does come back." The white-haired escort said warmly.

Mercury didn't dignify the statement with a comment. She was very glad to see Dante: he was rather tolerable for a Capitolite, but it didn't make his words any less asinine.

"The contents of your pockets are in a bag in the room you'll be staying in. I also suggest you watch the interview Grace Schrödinger gave for you before Crassus comes in to dress you up. You slept for thirty-seven hours and will be in public at two, in four hours." Aster said dispassionately, as if reading a grocery list. He wasn't looking at her anymore.

Mercury nodded, feeling suddenly weary. It had slipped her mind how incompetent Aster was with dealing with other people's emotional fragility. He had to be feeling terribly inadequate.

And why ever Grace? Mercury adored her teacher, but she couldn't fathom why the woman would submit to giving the Capitol an interview about her. She wondered how Finder had managed it.

"I'll watch the interview, thanks for taking care of everything."

"You did the messiest part of the job." Aster said with a sardonic twist to his lips.

The dark-haired man paled, his own words registering. He was out of the room before she could say anything.

A weak laugh escaped Mercury's lips. At least some things had remained the same.

"I guess I did." She whispered to an appalled Dante.

* * *

An empty beaten earth track.

A wild colorful crowd she could barely hear despite the deafening noise.

Three mutt spiders in one cage-like metal sphere pulling the fake-aluminum chariot.

Just three.

Algor's three had been knifed to death to mirror of his own swift demise at Aurora's hands. His sacrifice to save a girl whose name he probably didn't know. A girl who died days later and whose name would soon be forgotten.

Mercury's heart was hammering painfully.

_I'm not going anywhere bad. Just don't forget!_ Yolo's last words were ringing in her ears.

Yolo, Algor, Rachel, Aurora, Corsair, Carnelia, Armagnac, Paloma, Orvis, Mouse, Victor, Hawk, Drake, Gamina, Georgie, Tesu, Harrow and Rosemary, Messenger, Mesmer, Apple, Bryony and the well-spoken Dash.  
She was the only one who would remember them all. The curse of memory. The duty of remembrance.

The coliseum was empty.

Flashes of another chariot ride, another life ago, began to assault her. Her chest was too constricted to let her breathe.

Stepping on the chariot had become the most terrifying thing she had ever contemplated doing.

"Come on, you're a masterpiece, I had never designed for a victor before but they'll faint from esthetical overload, trust me." Crassus said, waving his arms excessively as he spoke.

Her stylist's words jolted her back to reality. This was the Capitol. The twitchy man thought her worst fear was looking bad. The audience was _Capitol_: naïve, oblivious, harmless.

She lifted her dress and stepped onto the Chariot. Gone was the sexy android disguise. Now she was a victor; she was to be glamorous and ravishing. Apparently a golden taffeta ball-gown encrusted with everything the Crassus could heap on it was the way to go. The over-dramatic bustled skirt was so big Mercury was wondering whether the electricity sizzling around the spiders' cage would light it on fire.

It might've been entertaining to see. She was sure the crowd would have loved it.

A sudden blast tore through the air.

She was in the Games again, struggling to get Drake to breathe, the cannon shot crushing her futile hope and last shreds of innocence.

Another. She forced her eyes to focus on the present.

The President was on the floor; the Head Gamemaker shouting for help.

Not cannons, guns.

Her lips parted in shock.

Her chariot was halfway across the arena. Her eyes focused on the front rows of the audience, where escorts and victors were scrambling for cover. The sudden hammering of her heart slowly decreased as she made out Aster's moving form. She breathed again in sheer relief.

The cheers had turned into screams of terror and pain, a stampede breaking out in the middle rows.

Mercury counted three fallen escorts, two women and a man. The obese escort from Seven was clutching his leg. She blinked, unable to make sense of what was happening.

At least a score of people had been shot down when a second brand of gunshots resounded, further away.

"Order!" A voice boomed in the coliseum.

As one, the Capitolites froze and turned to the President's alcove.

A small, thin man, with paper-white hair and thick lips was standing with a microphone in his hands.

"Give way to the medics, we shall not let terrorists goad us into mass panic! As we speak my men are interrogating the few surviving rebels. We shall discover where they obtained their weapons and swiftly punish any who gave them assistance. We have been too lenient! We must remind…"

Mercury didn't hear the rest of his speech. It didn't make any sense.

The aim had been fabulous. Snipers in the Capitol? Rebel snipers? Rebels that well equipped and prepared would have shot the Gamemakers after the President, or the now hidden Caesar. Escorts maybe, but random targets in the crowd? Rebels that prepared would have had grenades or automatics if their aim was mass damage. They'd have needed massive inside support to get so close. The old man's peacekeepers would not have found them in less than five minutes. There would not have been just a handful of snipers. It would not have been so pointless.

"Get out of there!"

Aster had reached her now immobile Chariot, a tight look on his face. Dante wasn't far behind, tears in his eyes.

She jumped off, still trying to make sense of the killing, almost tripping on her over-the-top dress. Aster steadied her, his grip painful on her arm.

The Capitol crowd was shouting for blood, a grim-looking horde of malevolent peacocks. Mercury couldn't believe her eyes.

"Who is this man?"

"Snow" Dante muttered, "Coriolanus Snow."


	39. PG2: They wish we would forget

**Thanks for the reviews, I'm glad to see you back ETNRL4L^^.**

**Enjoy.**

* * *

Five's, Nine's and Eleven's escorts dead. Dante's expression was somber, his enhanced eyes simmering with fury whenever Snow's face appeared on TV. When Mercury had asked what those 'poor people' had done to attract the wrath of shooters, Dante had answered 'being too kind'. His implications were clear. These three escorts had been the closest things escorts had to rebels.

Seven's escort was just an incompetent and pompous annoyance. Dante didn't look sorry for him at all. The obese man was also one of the few wounded, barring the stampede casualties.

Thirty-six dead from bullets, four wounded. Another three dead and fifty-one wounded from the panic. Rebels with such good training would not be so incompetent regarding the rest of the planning of their move. This would just backfire on the Districts.

Unless Snow had planned the whole thing.

Among the dead were the two chiefs of security and a dozen of Zephyr's most influential supporters.

The coincidences were too much. The blame on the Districts too convenient. No-one had seen the faces of the snipers.

Zephyr had not been lenient or interested in District welfare, but he'd valued productivity over authority to an extent. Three had celebrated when he'd lifted the censure on pre-cataclysm scientific publications.

Mercury eyes were hard. She turned off the TV.

"That was interesting, for once." Aster pointed out, raising a question eyebrow at her.

"I have an interview tonight. Caesar might be cursing the ungrateful and barbaric Districts now, in his oh-so-charming fashion, but people are taking Snow's order to live on as if nothing had occurred to heart. And I'd better get on that stage on a good mood." She said with a forced little smile.

Capitolites visibly lacked the capacity to do more than follow Snow like sheep, even when it meant an expedited state burial for the victims with the justification that it was an _honor_.

Snow had killed the political opposition. He'd said the words 'information', 'intelligence', and 'security' fifty times in the last half hour, leaving Mercury to wonder if her paranoid attitude had been enough. Snow spoke like a zealot. And of course, the Capitol hailed him a savior.

"There is the recap before the interviews." Dante gently reminded her.

"Oh joy." Mercury breathed with rising dread. It had slipped her mind.

"You earned it." Aster muttered.

Mercury shot him a dark glance. "How about you stop acting as if you've just been through the Games again? Can't you concentrate on the fact you're happy I'm alive?"

She could only guess how hard watching her in the arena had to have been but the current situation was not helping with her mood.

"Aegis Lorrel fell on me when he was shot. I might be a little shaken." Aster said, a gloomy cast to his features. "And it is custom for the victor to meet the President."

"He's dead." Mercury said, confused, a comforting hand on her mentor's shoulder.

"Saving your neurons for the interviews?" the man said in dry silken tones.

Mercury frowned, unable to get angry at him, if only because his voice was unethically sexy. Her eyes slowly grew wide with dread.

"Snow. Snow will be President." She said .

"Of course. He cares about Panem too much to let it fall into incompetent hands, no Dante?"

Dante was hardly amused, even if he was concealing his anger much better than before. Mercury wondered what his real stance was. Escorts had to be odd people, supporting the Capitol yet seeing the damage they did first hand. She wondered how they remained well adjusted human beings. She smiled thinly. Who had ever said they were well-adjusted?

"I'm sure no one will stand in his way." Dante stiffly answered.

"A good thing the man has the charisma to convince people to distract themselves from the murder of a few score people by making them watch the murder of a score kids." Aster pursued, oozing sarcasm. "You need to get ready, Mercury."

Dante exhaled, his jaw tight. He regally left the room, not deigning to comment.

Mercury was eying Aster affectionately, a small smile gracing her lips.

"Am I the only person who survived your abrasive personality for more than an hour in the last years?"

Aster elegantly turned to her, eyes crinkling. "You're an inquisitive pest, but at least you're from home. Remember the audience will see and hear only what they want to and Caesar wants them as happy as you wisely should, you'll be hard pressed to make them doubt about the _delight_ the Games represent."

For once, his words were actually a relief.

* * *

Her bright silver dress seemed to ripple as she moved, as if it had a life of its own. Much classier and more sensible than what she had worn in the earlier afternoon, it reminded her of middle school where people had called her Quicksilver. Crassus evidently had the sense of humor of a nine year old.

The giant screen was staring back at her. White and threatening. She already witnessed the real horror of the Games once. Once too many. Mercury steeled herself for an onslaught of raw emotions, her dread rising as Caesar finished his introductory speech.

Nothing had prepared her for what she saw.

The recap lacked any depth. The 'why?s' were forgotten on screen as they were bombarded by action scenes and tear-faced dirty tributes mourning their dead allies. Sensational and dispassionate, the one hour recap turned the Games into a farce. The Capitol had forgotten that the violence had been a very small part of those hellish eight days. They were feeding the audience meaningless drama, leaving Mercury to gape at the way they played out Corsair's and Aurora's 'romance'. She hadn't been with the Careers, but she was quite certain they were dying of embarrassment all over again. She was too appalled to grieve. Those were not the people she had entered the Games with.

She forced her lips shut, belatedly noticing she was growling in anger. They'd reduced the tributes to caricatures, and not even ones that might have done them somewhat justice. She was the only character approaching 3D, victor's benefits, but still a bad character.

They barely spared a couple of minutes for any who hadn't made it to the last ten. They'd erased everything of Algor and Rosemary, of Harrow and even Chester. They were just extras in a bad movie, the unnamed people who just died. Drake, like Bryony, was there to make tears spring, the sequence of their death pathetically long.

But it was already too late for Mercury's sadness to overcome her fury. Her eyes were painfully dry as she forced herself to watch, her arms trembling from the strength with which she squeezed the chair's armrests.

She almost attacked Caesar when he put a hand on her shoulder. They'd made Georgie sound infantile, ungrateful and almost retarded. Even Mesmer, their darling weapon, who'd been brilliant despite his huge flaws, had been retrograded to a pretty killing machine.

After butchering the kids, they were butchering the image people had of them.

Criminal movie engineering presented them with a confused and naively cheerful Yolo.

They were murdering them all over again.

Mercury was livid; the usually cool tempered girl was a hair-breadth away from throwing the heavy chair on the cheering audience.

She couldn't believe she had found excuses for these people. They were brainwashed, but they weren't alien either. They had seen the Games, the true, live version. They should be on their chairs, throwing their shoes at Caesar because only an imbecile would miss the gaping discrepancies between the recap and the Games. Instead their eyes sparkled as if they'd discovered the meaning of art.

Never had she felt so disgusted.

The lights were back on and the cameras were on her. Mercury smiled, a dangerous smile. Her face was flushed, a strange light in her blue eyes.

A small part of her was almost afraid of the person she was seeing on the giant screens. Another scoffed at how easy the interview would be. They could not touch her anymore. They were nothing.

"So Mercury, we all saw the _gripping_ recap. How would you describe the Games if you could just use a handful of words?"

False hope, deprivation, betrayal, murder, waste.

"You overestimate my eloquence, Caesar. The Games are not told, they are lived. Lock yourself in a dark room with screens instead of walls. Walk alongside any tribute among the will-o-the-wisps that haunted the maze. Imagine that behind each rock, your murdered could be lying in wait for you. Maybe have Corsair real size next to you right before he attacks. Then you might glimpse it."

They wouldn't, it'd just get their hearts racing. She should've told them to turn the commentary off and _really_ listen to what the tributes said to each other in the arena, but she hadn't won this just to die from an 'accident' a few days later.

"I shiver just at the thought. It sounds like an ominous experience." Caesar said, with his usual enthusiasm.

"The Games certainly were." Mercury said, unable to help herself.

Caesar laughed. Mercury wanted him dead.

"You were right to tell sponsors to bet on you! What will you do now?"

"I owe the orphanage the opportunities I had. I'll probably invest in it. I have studies to finish too. I'll probably get even more filthy rich by selling you stuff." Mercury said, counting off her fingers and keeping her tones just flippant enough to sound proud but not too arrogant.

What she really wanted was to go and have a real conversation with Aster somewhere which didn't smell like expensive perfume and devoid of surveillance cameras. And have him propose. But that was probably pushing it.

"Electronics, correct? My favorite toy as a lad were those ever-changing color-fiber clouds you could shape into anything."

Caesar had the crowd gushing, but he visibly had no clue as to what electronics really were.

The questions were all easy, nice even. After a day deflecting Mesmer's wounding inquiries, she was almost bored. On some level, it terrified her. She didn't want to become so jaded she would live a life of hate and emotional dryness. Aster loathed himself and had built up a wall of sarcasm and dark wit against any intrusion. She didn't want to fall in the same trap, such an _easy_ trap. She was the victim; she would never blame herself more than her due for what the Capitol would make her do. She would pull through. And she would pull her mentor through with her.

She shut up the little voice saying that no victor had chosen to be unhappy.


	40. PG3: No one else can save you

The anger that had sustained her through the interviews was just ashes in her mouth as she awakened.

Anger concealed the cracks in defective arguments and the truth was, no matter how despicable the Capitol, her life was in their hands. Forever. No matter how warped their minds were they would recognize disdain for what it was.

But it had felt so good. She had been in control.

She hadn't dreamed during the night.

Now _that_ was too beautiful not to be suspicious.

Daemon Gedit's silver clock revealed it was almost noon. She'd taken to wear the token around her neck, as a statement of her origin, but essentially because she couldn't glance at it without thinking of Harrow and Rose. It reminded her she had vowed to give a true meaning to her life whenever she felt the urge to crawl into a dark place and hide forever.

"You drugged me." She accused Dante as soon as he came in, almost amused.

"You looked terrible last night; Crassus was afraid those anger lines would grow etched in your skin and was considering preventive facial injections."

"He changed his mind quickly enough." Aster commented, in a low threatening voice.

Mercury flashed him a grateful smile. The babyish, line-less faces of so many Capitol adults made her shudder. She pushed the covers off her, gesturing at the men to sit on the large bed.

"And why are you so certain I am the culprit?" Dante added, looking almost wounded.

"Because Aster's uptight about mind-altering substances. Perish the thought of us sacrificing our brains in Three, why do you think our jokes are all on District Six?" she said playfully, leaning instinctively against her mentor. The man stiffened but didn't pull away.

"At least you're in a chirpy mood this morning." The long-haired escort pointed out, a smile drawing itself on his lips.

"Gentlemen, she's half naked, get out!"

Mercury's eyes widened drastically as she recognized the speaker.

"Enobaria." She whispered, at a loss.

Aster was on his feet, between her and the newcomer.

"I won't eat her, Aster, cut the death stare." The victor of the 62nd Hunger Games snapped.

Dante was already out.

"I'll be fine." Mercury said, not feeling so sure once the words had left her mouth.

Aster reluctantly left, shutting the door behind him. The orphan almost whimpered at been left alone.

"Snow's rebugging the building. We have at least five minutes before the cameras are back online."

Mercury found herself gaping stupidly.

Of all the things she had expected, that wasn't it. She exhaled heavily; her mind whirling. _Was it even true?_

"Must I spend these minutes with you?" She'd rather talk to Aster.

"Yes!" Enobaria impatiently said. "Your friends will coddle you. They forget you'll soon lose the strength you have now. The Games sink in, they don't fade. It's slow poison. I found myself finding Drake sweet, so I'll extend to you a bit of my hard earned knowledge." She said with a toothless grim smile.

"Learn sign language. Avoxes know everything and Capitol security is too conceited to pay them any attention. They're mute, not deaf and blind. That's how I knew to come. The Capitol will use you like a fashionable and pretty new toy, they have no boundaries. Don't make a great case of it, they certainly won't. Don't let what they do touch you. No one else will glue you back together if you do. Only victors can help victors and other victors won't babysit you. We don't have the emotional energy to spare."

Mercury stood frozen in place, struggling to process Enobaria's words.

_The Games sink in, they don't fade. They have no boundaries. We don't have the emotional energy to spare._

It wasn't over. She'd known. She'd thought she could handle it.

It would just _get worse_?

Enobaria grabbed her shoulders and shook her firmly. "It's starting to show, Three. Snow means business. Stop the half-lies and kiss Aster. They'll find all the skeletons in your closet and broadcast them for the whole world to see. Half the victors are sleeping with each other anyway. Killing victors is the only thing you can count on the Capitol not doing, unless you lose your mind and do the unforgivable."

Mercury blinked, fighting rising panic.

"Why would Snow care whether I kissed him or not?"

Enobaria rolled her eyes. "A rational little creature like you, falling for a man that is far from classically handsome or kind while the Games occupy your every thought? Nobody cared when you were just a tribute, but it doesn't hold under scrutiny. You spend all your time with him. It's not about the kissing, it's about not taking Snow for an idiot. It's about you showing weakness. I've been paying attention to you, first year mentoring and everything." She finished with a small grim smile.

Mercury had tried to forget this would only be the first of many sojourns in the Capitol. She took a shaky breath, wondering how she'd reach Three alive.

Enobaria stepped away from her, visibly considering her message delivered.

"See you at lunch or something?" Mercury weakly said, more to hold on to a semblance of normality than truly meaning it.

"I'm a Career, you're not."

Mercury stared hard at the hazel-eyed young woman. "I'm a better Career than most, _I won_. Besides, I'm used to switching alliances." She said in harsh tones.

Enobaria shook her head in wry amusement before narrowing her eyes at the younger girl. "Fine. 12h30 tomorrow, sharp."

"Give her a minute." Mercury heard the other victor say as she briskly exited the room.

The girl only then noticed her cheeks were wet from tears. Tears that solved nothing and didn't soothe her pains.

What had possessed her to invite Enobaria to lunch? She wanted Finder. She wanted someone cheerful, someone not plagued with nightmares of murder and fear.

Aster would kiss her, if only to protect her. She wouldn't know what it would mean to him, not before she was out of the city. She didn't want to play that game.

She put her face in her hands as she mulled over Enobaria's words. Of course victors would get together. Who else would understand? How could any victor put a loved one in danger by dragging them into this world of lies and threats?

"Dante!" she called, her voice breaking.

"Are you decent now?"

She quickly was. Except for her hair. She just couldn't touch her hair. She'd wait for Crassus.

"What did that fury want?" the escort asked, his immense eyelashes enhancing his confusion to cartoon-like shock.

What had Enobaria wanted? To avoid her needless pain? Some kind of victor kinship because she had been in the same position the year before? Maybe she was tired of seeing death and wanted to do some good. Maybe she had truly been touched by Drake's solicitude.

"She was fond of Drake; says it's disrespectful to Drake for me to be all over Aster like that. Am I?" she said in a weak voice, afraid she'd burst in to tears again.

Dante flashed her a knowing smile. "Victors rarely marry someone who didn't win the Games."

He sobered at her pointed look. "_All over_ is excessive. But, you both have a good influence on the other's mood and I have never seen him so physical as he is with you. Aster's not an easy man to live with. Don't devote yourselves to others before you can stand on your own."

Mercury felt a spike of fury shoot through her. Dante knew _nothing_ of Aster. He knew nothing of her. He saw the facades they wore for the Capitol and she hoped he didn't see much beyond them, or he should be hung for his support of the Games. And she could stand on her own just fine if the Capitol just sent her home and let her be.

"I'll remember that. Let's go, I'm tired of living in my bedroom."

"Your hair is a mess." The Capitolite gently said.

Mercury stared at him, her eyes shards of ice, until Dante lowered his gaze. "Screw it." She said.

Aster was waiting impatiently behind the door. Mercury's heart clenched at the exhaustion plain on his features.

"Did you sleep at all during the Games?" She asked, unable to keep anger out of her tone at the thought of him endangering his health.

"Tributes have died in the past because of mentors with poor reflexes."

And he didn't trust Beetee not to doze off?

"For what you deigned to send me." She dryly quipped.

"Overspending at the first scratch is murder! You had what you needed."

Mercury smiled at his defensive tone, her first genuine smile since the Games had ended.

"True enough." She said, squeezing his hand in hers.

Aster tensed at the lingering and open familiarity. Dante's poorly restrained smirk caused the man to turn his piercing black stare on the now grown insistent child who had disturbed his self-inflicted solitude in the last six years.

Mercury could see the question in his eyes. _How much is angle?_

She let go of his hand, hating the question herself.

"I should see Beetee. I've avoided him enough."

"You've regained consciousness less than twenty-four hours ago." Aster said, his voice uncharacteristically gentle.

Her mind was made up. "I need to talk about Algor. Alone, please."

She needed to talk about all of them. She feared she wouldn't find the words.

Beetee was with Wiress.

That itself was unsurprising.

Wiress' edgy, wide-eyed expression was sadly all too common too.

Mercury had been twelve when they'd broad-casted Wiress' Games during socio-politics class, the class designed to show them how necessary the Capitol was for the prosperity of Panem. It had been already plain to the child that the frizzy-haired teenager was introverted. _Introverted _had a special signification in the Web, one that didn't even extend to the whole of Three. The brightest among them often had quirks, a certain social rigidity, a lack of practical sense and adaptability that bemused anyone who hadn't grown amidst intellectuals. In some it became impairing; they could not live alone. Introverted children weren't always brilliant, but potential uncommon brightness was something Three didn't want wasted, so, unlike other disabilities, introverts weren't discarded.

Wiress had not been able to keep up with Caesar's questions during the interviews and had hidden in her chariot during the rides. But it had helped her in the Games. Single-minded and focused on the present, she had seemed oblivious to all that happened around her, immune to the fear that gripped so many tributes. She had been just adaptable enough to survive in a setting that destroyed the most well-adjusted people. Maybe there was a moral to it.

The small mercy was that Wiress was indeed brilliant, and that the Web knew exactly how to deal with their _introverted_ children. Mercury had never felt nervous around her more socially awkward peers. So why were her hands clammy and her breathing ragged?

Wiress was the only other female victor from District Three. She was barely thirty-five yet the Games had sucked the youth out of her face. She was everything Mercury was terrified of becoming. Perpetually afraid, trapped in her own mind, dependent.

Mercury hadn't seen Beetee get up to help her.

She broke down in his arms, shivering uncontrollably. She didn't seem to be able to stop, clinging to him as if she he could shield her from the malignant place the world had become.

"I'm sorry." She finally stammered as Beetee steadied her. She didn't understand why she was reacting so strongly.

"Is this the first time you have a panic attack?" the bespectacled man asked gently.

_Panic attack._ Somehow putting a name on them lessened Mercury's embarrassment. It sounded _clinical_.

"Before the ride, almost." she said, looking down. "But then so many things happened…."

Beetee guided her to the couch he'd been sharing with Wiress and made Mercury squeeze between the two of them. "Victors are good under stress. We survived the Games after all. Immediate threat is something we all deal with. It's the day to day conflicts, the non-life-threatening stressful situations that remind us we are not free of the Games and all winning them entails."

Wiress was stroking Mercury's hand, as you would a child's. The orphan had almost forgotten the cocooning feeling of sharing too-small furniture with adults. She relaxed, pondering Beetee's words. Crying for stupid reasons wouldn't compromise her, it wasn't such a big deal. Unless it never would go away.

"You're saying that if Snow invites me to tea, I'll be perfect, but if Aster refuses to have lunch with me for some reason, I'll be unable to function?"

"Talked to Caesar the second time." Wiress whispered, her eyes narrowed at the memory.

"Full complete sentences, I was very proud of you." Beetee added, smiling at his companion. There was something twitchy about him, as if he was perpetually excited or nervous. It was so different after Aster's statue-like stiffness. Mercury wondered if it was Beetee's way of expressing stress.

"I wish Algor was here. I'm sorry I didn't do more." she said, her knees tucked safely under her chin.

"I know." Beetee said, grasping her hand. "You will be for a long time. Accept that the Games make us weak, it is the key to a semblance of peace, Mercury."

The girl sniffed, allowing that Beetee was much better at comfort than Aster or Dante. She raised her eyes to his.

"I have his token. I have Georgie's too. And Drake's. I need to give them back. I need to talk to them, Beetee."

"Give them back if you want, but talking to anyone's but Algor's family would be very selfish." The ashen-skinned man said, his hands clasped tightly before him, as if to stop them from twitching.

Mercury spasmed, as if he'd shocked her. "But why? I'd be careful! I wouldn't talk politics or anything, just…"

"You would, but _they_ wouldn't know how to be careful enough, you'd be putting them in danger because you want them not to hate you. They've lost their children, let them be. Don't let their opinion matter to you."

"They don't matter." Wiress echoed, holding her head tightly with her pale hands.

Mercury's face fell. She could almost physically feel the Capitol's noose tighten around her throat. The illusion had to be perfect or people would pay in blood. She had made the choice to live, and now asking for the families' forgiveness was not an option.

_Selfish.  
_

Her eyes were blinking rapidly, her breath erratic as she desperately sought for a flaw in the Capitol's surveillance. Anything to make Beetee's words untrue.

Pain creased the man's face. "Trust me, Child. I know."

"How do you handle it?" Mercury said, her voice the barest of whispers.

It was as if all color had been sucked from the world and ash soured the air she breathed; air so heavy it crushed her chest and bowed her neck.

"They do not matter." Wiress repeated, her expression insistent.

Her older companion's lips were moving soundlessly, as if he was tackling a complex problem.

"Beetee?" Mercury whispered.

"There are no rules. Don't shut yourself off. And it's Volts, you're one of us now." He let out a small giggle. "Names have power, Beetee and Volts are different people, see. Just find your thing."

Enobaria had been right.

Mercury had known it would be hard, she'd known it would be unfair. She hadn't expected it to hurt so much.

_Can't hurt more than losing a kid._ A treacherous voice in her mind whispered.

The young woman leaned against Wiress, letting the other victor pull her into a hug. Beetee was right, indulging her guilt would just endanger the families.

She had to stop this downwards spiral of gnawing remorse and helplessness. She would have money, time and freedom within Capitol rules. She had to start making plans.

* * *

**AN  
**

**To clarify 'introverted' covers anything from minor autism/ Asperger's syndrome to the more serious variants of the condition.  
**

**Please review^^**


	41. PG4: A lesson on forest fire

Mercury was of the philosophy that suppressing one's subconscious could only lead to severe psychological problems.

She was revising that philosophy at five am, drenched from blood-curdling nightmares and now considering to ask Dante for more of the drugs he'd given her on the first night.

Doing so would be giving up.

_Accept the Games make us weak._

Mercury stubbornly clamped her teeth together, as if a scream would exit unbidden if she loosened her control. Something tugged at her limbs as she tried to move.

The silken sheets were the symbol of her golden cage, twisted around her body like hungry snakes weighting for their prey to stop struggling, for the venom to take effect. She struggled to push them off her.

The wide room was suffocating, each piece of furniture, each canvas and scent, the brand of her captors. She could neither thrash nor scream as the invisible cameras monitored her every move, their ever-watching eyes hungry for the keys to her troubled soul.

Further sleep eluded her, her mind seemed impervious to any form of distraction. It only replayed the nightmares, over and over, seemingly unmindful of the fact she was awake.

Very well.

Mercury lit the TV, finding the live records of the Games on the menu page. Half-seated in her comfortable double-bed, she hit the play button.

She knew which scenes to avoid, and also that nightmares were unavoidable.

_Don't forget._

Her chest constricted. She could not only remember them by a few glimpses in training and their deaths.

Seeing herself in the tube once more, she wondered if her answer to trauma wasn't masochism.

60

59

58

Mercury pushed the remote away from her. She could do this.

"You don't have to watch. Color code my clothes or something." She muttered to the avox who was discretely standing guard on the edge of the room.

It was past eleven when she turned the TV off, the last image that of Paloma sheathing her weapon as Aurora let Messenger finish his night-watch.

The victor was smiling slightly, almost in nostalgia at seeing them like this. It was more bearable than the prospect of another interview that evening.

The avox was instantly at her side with a glass of water.

She took it, grateful.

The man jumped back, distracting her from her somber reminiscing, terror etched on his weathered features.

Mercury frowned, making sure they were still alone in the room. "What did I do?" she asked, his attitude making her nervous.

The avox instantly smoothed his expression, straightening, signaling nothing was wrong.

Mercury blinked. What could she possibly have done to warrant such a reaction?

"What did I do?" She repeated, her tone brooking no refusal.

The other looked pained but complied, he pointed at her hand, then at his hand.

Mercury stared. "I took the glass from your hand. Was it not for me?"

He shook his head, now almost amused.

"I just touched you." Mercury muttered, confused.

The avox's face said it all.

"You get punished when you touch people?"

Mercury squeezed her eyes shut at his reluctant assent, pulling her knees under her chin. The uncontrollable urge to hide in a corner and cry was there again. She wanted to leave this hell.

She was alone. For the first time since the reapings she was truly alone. While she'd known Dante would be busy, she had expected Aster to be there.

She could only turn her attention inwards, into the ugliness the Games had bred. A freakish creature of fury and guilt, of violence and pain. A monster of lies and selfishness called Survival; collared with a golden chain that proudly displayed the crest of the Capitol.

Aster had murdered six to be hailed as victor. She respected him and ached to be allowed to love him openly. Reason dictated that if the man found grace in her eyes, then the Games should not alter the respect she had for herself. Reason was but a stout small shield that could do little against a crashing wave. Her hair had never been so lustrous yet it remained too stained to touch.

Forcing herself not to be upset the room remained empty, she hastily changed into her under clothes not to be caught in her nightdress when Crassus arrived.

The man's most appreciable quality was that he didn't talk while working and disapproved of any needless chatter from his assistants, so she was presentable in less than an hour.

She checked her watch. Quarter past twelve.

Time for her date, Mercury thought wryly, heading for the dining hall.

Enobaria was sitting alone on one of the carved wood and marble tables. She looked almost taken aback to see the girl heading towards her.

"Hello, New Girl." The former Career greeted, flashing her a small tight-lipped smile.

"I'm not that hungry." Mercury said, her stomach knotting just at the sight of the buffet on the other side of the room.

"You'll find your appetite soon enough." Enobaria promised, pouring juice into both their glasses.

Mercury expectantly stared at muscled young-woman. "Grin a bit? Please."

The older victor seemed all but amused. Mercury guessed every single Capitolite who Enobaria had met had probably asked.

"Oh come on, scientific curiosity!" she insisted.

The girl from Two grudgingly relented, revealing an impressive array of perfectly aligned golden canines. Looking closely, Mercury could see they were blunted at the tip. Enobaria probably could kiss then.

"Cool!" she commented brightly, willing Drake's painfully cute face out of her mind.

Enobaria snorted. "Capitol loves them. I soon grew to love them too. After all, they're my only required contribution."

Mercury frowned. What was _her_ contribution then? Well, it couldn't be worse than having to kill...

Enobaria was soon back with a platter full of various delicious looking dishes. Meatless dishes. She set a cup of fruit in front of Mercury.

"Eat that."

"Yes, Auntie." Mercury dryly said, poking suspiciously at the fruit with her fork. "So, who else should I try to get along with? Is Brutus interesting?"

Enobaria's eyes crinkled with mirth. "We're all _interesting_. Brutus and I get along just fine, but I doubt he's your type. He's rather gruff. Gloss is much more entertaining, but he's joined at the hip with his sister, and Cashmere doesn't like socializing."

She pointed at the raven-haired girl's arm. "Nice tattoo."

Mercury shrugged. "It's a _tattoo._"

Enobaria chuckled. "You lack perspective, a tattoo is entirely mainstream here. At least that one is well drawn. Wear it proudly."

Mercury granted her a little smile. Like Dante, Enobaria was cheerful enough to make her feel better. Unlike Dante, she understood.

_Or did she?_

"Is adjusting to being a victor what you'd expected it to be, as a Career?" she asked curiously.

Enobaria's smirk was patronizing. Mercury wondered if she'd just imagined the flicker of hate in the other girl's eyes.

"Depends. Four's said 'Careers' come in all shapes and sizes. Some have it worse than untrained victors. District One's are more like us, but they have no human blood on their hands when they enter the Games. We do. "

Two sounded like such a charming place.

"Why are you taught to master swords that well? It never comes to a sparring match, it must've happened twice in over fifty years to have real sword-fights on screen."

"Do you always ask so many questions?" Enobaria wondered, shaking her head. "Discipline. Surpassing yourself, building a tolerance to effort and pain."

Her eyes grew hooded. "The only thing I wasn't prepared for was the wait. The hours of silence, of inaction, all senses on alert just in case. Drives you bonkers."

Mercury didn't want to sell Enobaria short, but she now understood why Career victors banded together. They'd not fought the same Games as the others. For the girl from Three, the _wait _had been the less awful part, the human part.

"How did you cope through training then?"

Enobaria shrugged, almost defensively. "We just did, like everyone else who had the chance. Being the best is the greatest honor we can do our families."

Mercury sipped her juice. She vowed never to complain again. Enobaria might not struggle with guilt, but being born in Two certainly sounded like a greater curse, especially since it concerned the whole of a generation.

"And now, you've achieved your life goal." Mercury said with a smile, knowing deep down that she was being unfair. There was no way they were preparing those kids for a life of serving as Capitol lapdogs, no matter the honor in their own District.

Enobaria had a calculating expression on her face, as if she was pondering her words.

"Don't answer that." Mercury quickly said. "Who are you living with?"

She wondered what place for family and friends being a victor left.

She was surprised at how pleasant Enobaria could actually be, although Mercury would never hazard herself weep on her shoulder. The Career would probably laugh at her.

Indeed, Mercury was holding her stinging cheek, blinking back tears which had nothing to do with the pain.

"Get a grip!" Enobaria huffed.

"You bring up the subject and then you slap me?" An incredulous Mercury shot back, forcing her trembling voice under control despite the assault of emotions she struggled to explain.

"What part about not-babysitting was obscure?" The other girl shot back, baring her teeth. "I just asked if you had any close female friends in Three, I don't want to know how your thought process lead to this mess."

"I'm not going to apologize for being human."

"And I'm not going to apologize for not being a mop!"

Mercury's lips twitched. She willed Georgie's nightlock stained face out of her mind, willed herself to accept that the decision had been necessary.

"As long as we agree on that. And no, I just find guys easier to get along with."

She pushed her chair back under the table. "I'd better go introduce myself to the rest of our merry little clique now."

"You'll hate it." Enobaria predicted tersely, leading the way.

She did. It was awkward. The Careers didn't see why she would talk to them, they were curt and dismissive, or just dismissive in Brutus' case. The others, those who were in a state enabling conversation, so that excluded already five of them, had stared at her with eyes so full of pity she hadn't been able to stand it.

_Pity. _Didn't they have anything constructive to do other than pity each other? Would that be her future? The Games taking over every aspect of her life? Those eight days erasing everything she had ever been and poisoning her life until the very end?

It was too early. She probably reminded them of a moment of their lives they wished to forget. Maybe they also blamed her for their tribute's death.

No, Mercury didn't understand. She feared she didn't want to understand.

She found herself pacing in the corridors, having six hours to kill before another pointless interview. This time with tombola winners asking her a couple of questions each. The Head Gamemaker's retirement ceremony followed by Snow's inauguration was keeping the crowds busy, and because of _recent unrest_ the little man had seen fit not to invite the victors, not that any of them were complaining.

Was Aster avoiding her? Couldn't he have at least sent word? She thought irritably. He might be terrible at dealing with emotional vulnerability, but at least he knew her and made her feel less fake when he was around. She could let herself feel and not be engulfed by hate.

She finally decided to track Dante down, he should be back doing paperwork by now.

"Do you have a list of who sponsored me, those that gave a significant amount? I figured it might be polite to send a generic letter of thanks they can stick on their living room wall for when they have guests."

Dante stifled a laugh. "The parchment and fancy quill are on the third shelf. They'll be thrilled, Mercury. I'll find you the list."

Mercury frowned, was he making fun of his peers? Every time she thought she had him figured out, he surprised her with a comment like that.

Aster all but slammed the door open a couple of hours later.

"_President _Snow wants to see you in half an hour, you cannot go dressed like that, Crassus is waiting for you in your quarters." He said, his expression unreadable.

His words seemed to suck the warmth out of the room. Mercury carefully set the ink away, forcing her hands to remain steady, before walking up to her mentor.

"Nice to know you're not dead." She said in slightly peeved tones, planting a kiss on his cheek as she passed him to go back to her room.

"Don't be difficult." He snapped after a tense pause, shortening his strides to match hers.

Mercury eyebrows shot up at his tone. "Don't worry, my day's about to get at least as bad as yours was."

Aster's expression softened; the young woman could've sworn she'd heard a small sigh.

"Recruitment posters are everywhere. It's fashionable to serve Panem by working for the President, all the intelligence positions Zephyr disbanded and more are open once more." He finally said.

"Well that'll solve Panem's overpopulation problems." Mercury said in light tones, willing her dread not to show. The Capitol's reign after the end of the Dark Days had taken root in soil soaked from mass-executions.

Aster chuckled darkly. "Undoubtedly."

She just wanted him to hold her. He was so close yet so shut off.

Crassus' expert styling managed to defy the laws of tasteful couture once again, dressing her with pale blue silk trousers and an asymmetrical shirt that could've been made from albino alligator scales for all Mercury knew. She refrained herself from inquiring. Apparently it matched her hair-cut.

Aster, who'd come in to see the finishing touches removed two pins from her hair, making Crassus hiss in dismay.

"You're more attractive that way." He said in noncommittal tones.

Mercury found herself inches from his sharp features, stunned by his uncharacteristic behavior. Always more at ease with theoretical subjects, Aster had never been one to initiate physical contact and he most certainly never gave clues about seeing her as a sexual being.

_How much was angle?_

The message was nevertheless clear.

She grasped his hands, her heart hammering in her chest. "Thank you. I would be dead if it hadn't been for you."

His eyes were so intense she was struggling to keep her eyelashes from fluttering.

"I don't know what to make of you." Aster muttered, tracing her jaw with a finger.

She shivered, her lips slightly parted.

The soft kiss planted on her lips made her ache to melt into him, to give in to the one passion that the Games hadn't tainted. Yet she had no idea if he truly wanted her, so she pulled back, lingering just enough to prove she wasn't adverse to the idea at all.

Who was she kidding? He'd be quite capable to convince himself that she'd kiss him to survive, just as she had killed for it.

The bitter thoughts didn't sour the taste lingering on her lips. She dared not meet his eyes again, craving for more yet painfully aware Snow would not tolerate her dallying.

* * *

Snow gestured her to sit. There was a smell she couldn't place hovering around him, both slightly nauseating and sweet.

So this was the her jailer. Mercury found herself staring amiably at him, her nerves so raw she was afraid she'd lose it and snap his neck. Just a bearded short old man. He'd have no chance.

"Tea?"

Mercury blinked.

"Yes, please, Mr. President." She answered with a small smile, painfully aware she was bordering on insolence but unable to restrain herself. It was that or trembling in fear, and she was tired of been pushed around.

"The sixth victor from District Three. Two having already died. Not even our doing, I'll add." He said with a smirk. "Three has a history of peaceful partnership with the Capitol, you understand quickly after all. Petty unrest, idealistic rebellion, it's just not for such smart people is it?" Snow slammed his hands on the table, making her flinch. "_Good._ I'm a busy man."

His voice was free of all pretenses and laced with superiority. This was a man quite lucid about the power he'd just conquered.

"You're rather attractive in a plebeian fashion, you will be bought and are expected to comply."

The bluntness made Mercury's eyebrows shoot up. _Bought? _Did that mean what she feared?

"Will I be given a course? I have no idea what they want." Mercury said, reeling from shock.

Snow stared hard at her. An unwholesome smile drew itself on his lips.

"We'll mention you're a virgin then, the first auction will see prices soar I'm sure."

Her insides were a lead weight. It had meant what she'd feared.

"Do I get to keep the money?" Mercury hoarsely asked, the enormity of the situation barely registering. A shiver ran unbidden up her spine.

Snow stood up. "Oh they'll grow bored quickly enough, you're not exotic." His cold eyes glittered dangerously. "But I will _never _forget you or any other victor. You serve the Capitol. I am the Capitol now. Don't think you can escape it."

His face was inches from her, the sickly-sweet scent of him almost making her gag. "And don't hazard yourself to ever again walk the Capitol streets as if you belonged. You are nothing but the walking testament of the Districts' weakness."

He smiled thinly, pulling back once he was satisfied of the fear he read in her blue eyes. "Any questions? Surely a clever little tribute like you has a list."

Mercury had a million. She couldn't bear to meet his gaze. She pushed the steaming tea cup away.

"One, Mr. President, "she whispered, "Three escorts dead, not one mentor. Victor casualties in crossfire would have been very easy to explain, even with rebel shooters. I doubt the Capitol breeds more rebels than the Games."

Snow chuckled, sounding delighted.

"Such an eye for the intrigue, Mercury!" he said in condescending tones, "do you know how to fight forest fire, Girl?"

The change of subject made Mercury frown. "No, Mr. President."

"You burn the undergrowth so the fire won't catch. I need to locate the undergrowth, and I daresay the Districts are quite abuzz."

"You want the rebels to reveal themselves now. You're tracking who the known Capitol dissidents and the victors have contacted since the events." Mercury mouthed, her eyes wide in horror.

"I hope it won't ever lead to you." Snow said softly.

The message was crystal clear. Helpless tears misted her vision as the door shut behind her.

She doubted Snow would stay his hand because of lack of proof if she ever displeased him.

She wondered what had possessed her to wish for Capitolites to rip the veil that warped their conception of reality away from their eyes. Snow saw what was and the world was only worse for it.


	42. PG5: Veterans' advice

Aster was waiting a corridor away from Snow's new office. His dark eyes poorly concealed his apprehension as she walked towards him.

She blinked her tears back, grasping onto his arm to steady herself and mustering a brave smile. She led him without a word back to his quarters and shut the door behind them.

There was no pain; her body was in perfect working order. It felt wrong. She should not have physically felt so good. With every step she took she was waiting for something to break, for something to twist or burn. Pain would've made sense.

"Ever been sold?" she asked tightly.

She could've heard a pin drop.

"_Me_?" Aster choked out after a pause. He abruptly turned away from her, his expression so dark the girl cringed.

She remembered his Games. Nineteen endless days. She'd seen the entire records of the live broadcast with a clinical detachment that she didn't believe herself capable of ever mustering again. Aster had been aloof and sarcastic in the interviews before the Games and just sullen and withdrawn after the end. Even Mercury admitted he had not been handsome. His true gifts were his voice and mind and, at sixteen, he had shown none of the cold confidence and sheer presence that now made even Capitolites move out of his path. His eyes had been haunted, his dark humor subdued.

Capitol women were probably also pickier than the men. She was grateful.

"I'll live." Mercury snapped, tired of feeling like she had to take care of him. She was constantly on the edge of a precipice, never safe, never quite falling. Even the simplest things were exhausting. She longed to lie down and just feel _safe_.

"The human body survives many things." Aster granted bitterly, not meeting her eyes.

Weeks of accumulated anger crashed down.

"Indeed." Mercury said, her voice as harsh as biting winter wind. "Yet somewhere along the line being sold became worse than having to kill someone you genuinely liked. I murdered innocent people and you've been able to look at me just fine. But now, since I'm about to be raped by some random man through no fault of mine, I'm suddenly repugnant?"

The taller man soon had her jaw in an iron grip, his eyes burning into hers. Her breath caught.

"I'm looking at you, Mercury." He ground out in silken tones. "Do not expect me to be at peace with the thought of you being prostituted."

"Did I ask that?" Mercury said in softer tones, desperately wishing to at least spare him some pain. "I'm saying you shouldn't take it worse than me; it's just another chore. They'll buy me for self-gratification, not to cause me pain."

"You have no idea what you are talking about."

"I'm talking about being used and surviving. And no, in itself, I don't have a clue." She said tartly.

The man stared, eyes narrowing. "Mercury," he began, "you spent the last eight years in an orphanage in close quarters with dozens of hormonal teen boys."

Mercury exhaled before forcing a smile. "I'm Fiddle. I wouldn't have been called that if I preferred people to tinkering with stuff and electronics. I never even considered it before I was fifteen, and I guess I'm a romantic with high standards. It's not like I was assiduously courted by enamored suitors either."

_And I was busy having a perplexing crush on you. _

The seventeen-year old reddened at the look Aster was giving her, as if she was a peculiar little creature. His scrutiny was always entrancing, it pushed away everything else. It almost made her forget the suffocating hold of the Capitol. Almost.

The man's lips twitched as he caught her blush. "Uncomfortable at discussing your sex life, or lack thereof?"

_Oh, wasn't he hysterical? Truly witty._

"It's just sex. Women have sex for thousands of reason besides romantic love and survive. It's not the way I'd have ideally lead my life, and I know it'll be harder then I want to make it sound, but how is it so different than me surviving a few beatings before I have to go home?"

Now it was Aster's turn to look ill at ease. He surprised her by taking a brush off the shelf.

"Sit." He said, gesturing towards the bed, an odd light in his eyes.

She complied, tension paralyzing her body.

"I don't want you to touch my hair." She whispered, ashen.

_It was foul. So much blood._

"You tell me pretty single mothers sometimes buy their children's safety by sleeping with mediocre men that can nevertheless offer them a home and a future." Aster said, enunciating every word in low tones. "You tell me those women stand by their decision and are not the worse for it. You tell me you also can weather non-consensual intercourse like temporary physical discomfort. I truly want to believe you, Mercury. Your hair is clean, there is nothing warranting such a reaction."

"I cared about Drake; I won't about any buyer."

"It's not about them. It's about you." Aster replied, his gaze unflinching.

Mercury realized he wouldn't change his mind. His hand was still a foot away from her head and it took all her strength not to flee the room. It was like letting an oblivious toddler cross the street without intervening, her every cell was rebelling.

_This is Aster. It's just hair._

She was shaking so hard he grasped her arm to steady her. The brush slid through her combed locks, gentle on her skin.

She felt thin fingers on her hair.

She slapped his hand away, hard.

Aster raised his eyebrows. "You think I would be contaminated?" he asked, not quite patronizing.

Her expression hardened. Her instinct had feared exactly that.

She had torn into him for reacting that way about rape. She was asking him to sleep tight while she would be at the mercy of some stranger. Or strangers. It was ridiculous.

She scratched her head, pointedly, before grasping a fistful of hair so soft to the touch she almost didn't recognize the feel. She hoped whatever Crassus used wasn't toxic in the long term.

She felt physically ill as the silken locks caressed her skin.

"I'm back in the Games, feeling like I murdered Drake. It's all catalysts; it's not about hair. Sex won't catalyze anything. It'll make me feel used. Big deal, _used_ defines a victor. Won't make sex on my own terms any worse unless my partner can't get it up out of disgust."

Aster shook his head at her venom, a thin smile gracing his lips. "I never wanted to feel again after the Games. A bouncy eleven year old decided she knew better and invaded my privacy. Don't you dare now berate me for being upset, Mercury."

Mercury blinked, both touched and a little miffed by the choice of words. She ached to kiss him again, yet the cackles of nightmarish voices at the edge of her mind made her loath to relinquish her control on to her emotions. The same dark voices who dared her to believe that her passion would save her from the Games-bred madness and that longed to take over her mind.

"Bouncy?"

"I can't fathom why I tolerated you."

"You had years' worth of chemical results to show off and I was super interested and cute." She answered cockily.

The both knew the real reasons.

"Cute indeed. Unfortunately."

Mood killer.

Sold to a lustful stranger.

"When will I know if I am to… spend the night outside?" She asked, her voice not quite breaking.

"We'll be returning to Three in three days' time."

So little time. She'd never thought she'd dread going home.

three days.

Her breath quickened as helplessness sucked the strength out of her body. Fear constricted her chest and stomach, her vision blurred.

Aster cradled her curled up form in his arms, his hold stiff but strong.

"You shook talk to Seeder." He whispered when she found the strength to meet his eyes again.

"Already did." She stubbornly replied, resting her head against his chest.

"Not finding your own advice good enough? Now that _you're _the victor."

Mercury punched Aster's shoulder, not moving away from him. He must've found her so naive and arrogant when she'd told him to get over himself all those years ago.

"I have no problem admitting I'm a mess or talking about it. I just can't stand the pity. It's as if I'm hurting them by existing."

Aster tutted patronizingly. He slowly pushed her away, his eyes never leaving her face. "So now veteran victors aren't allowed to have their own issues and have to know better than you what you need? Seeder can help you, trust me."

She hated it when he was right.

"Does it have to be Mesmer's mentor?" She said, painfully aware she was close to whining.

"Yes! Make an effort."

She stole a kiss before exiting, not waiting to see his reaction. She did not trust herself to arrive to her interview composed if she read desire in his eyes.

She almost collided into Dante in the corridor.

"What news?" the man asked.

"My name's probably going to be on auction just after the bears' and beavers'." Mercury replied dryly.

Dante lowered his eyes. He lacked his usual luster despite his trademark flamboyant robes. She'd have estimated his age at sixty, a very fit sixty, but today, he looked much older. Even make-up did not conceal the lines digging into his handsome face.

"Are you alright, Dante?" She said, her expression far gentler.

"Angel was a friend's grand-daughter. She left me some of her artwork which I've been sorting through. She was always very sweet and understanding."

Five's escort. Mercury hadn't even thought about how the shootings would personally affect Dante. For her it had just been politics. New bitterness welled up inside her. Snow had even ruined the happiness of one of the few people who had a real chance at it in Panem. She should've paid more attention.

"Terrorists don't discriminate. I'm so sorry, Dante." She said, refusing to use the words _rebels_.

The white-haired man patted her shoulder, his golden eyes sad and far away.

* * *

Despite the barely filtering dawn light, many victors were already packing. The athletic olive-skinned woman was one of them.

"Good morning, may I bother you?" Mercury asked politely, not really knowing how to ask for help.

Every victor in the Capitol had been someone's mentor, and the girl hadn't even killed Mesmer, but she couldn't help feeling the urge to grovel for forgiveness every time she caught a glimpse of the middle-aged woman.

"Of course, sit." Seeder said with surprising friendliness.

Mercury blinked, unprepared for the motherly attitude. A ghost of a smile lit up her features.

"I was exhausted the first time we met. I'm sorry I wasn't any help." The woman added.

Mercury's lips twitched further, more in self-deprecation than anything. She'd hadn't even contemplated the possibility Seeder would simply be… _kind_. She relaxed.

"It's quite fine. Aster said you're on the podium of well-adjusted and pleasant females, with Mags and Asclepiad. Unfortunately I haven't had the pleasure to meet them yet_._"

"I'm flattered." Seeder said with a genuine smile, taking a seat next to the girl. "How can I help, Mercury?"

"The Games, the feelings of oppression, of helplessness... They're taking over all my waking thoughts. I don't know what to do."

An unbidden grin drew itself of the dark-haired victor's lips as the words had escaped her mouth. She blinked in wonder. For the first time in what seemed an eternity she had told a stranger the truth. Simply the _truth_. It was an amazing feeling.

Seeder nodded, looking deep in thought. "Do you know what my talent is?"

"No." Mercury admitted, still smiling inanely.

A talent. She'd have to start thinking about that too soon enough.

"Curing trauma using contact with animals. I have a clinic of a kind. Usually children who suffer from a traumatic work accident and do not dare go back to the orchards once they are healed."

"We can really choose talents that help people?" Mercury blurted out, her eyes now wide in hope.

She blushed at Seeder's chuckle.

"It looks a lot like a circus when I present it to the Capitol; very entertaining." A shadow passed over the woman's golden-brown eyes. "I hope the new President will not be adverse to it. After all, it does heighten the productivity by getting the patients back to work."

Mercury nodded, hoping Snow was not out to make victors miserable, just subdued. Seeder deserved her clinic.

Her throat tightened, Snow's cruel glare vivid in her mind. He could whimsically condemn all of Seeder's children to a life of mendacity, find thousands of little ways to kill the resilient bright sparks illuminating the victors' lives. He had to be stopped, somehow.

"Animals, in Eleven?" she couldn't help asking.

"I'm rich, Ten's not far."

"Good point. So you're good with people who have problems." Mercury summed up. "Or maybe, you say I should buy one of those auctioned bears?"

"The younger workers climb the trees. They run on the thinnest branches and fall. Riding gives them back confidence." Seeder flashed her a wry smile. "I haven't tried bears."

The woman's expression grew more serious. "Write down your dreams and nightmares, with a special attention to what you felt during at each step of them and how the scenes succeed themselves. Nightmares don't usually show the real issue at first glance, but patterns emerge. You should chronicle your days in the same way. It'll be a long process, _but_," she stressed," some of us do pull through and it does help."

Mercury nodded, resolve etched into her features. Usually she wanted to forget the nightmares as soon as she woke up. She'd ask Dante to find her a diary. She was sure she could recall the specters of the previous nights with surprising ease if she employed her mind to it.

"I'm sorry if I caused you any pain from the way I used Mesmer." She muttered.

Seeder laughed. A dry laugh that failed to reach the woman's eyes.

"That's not what caused me pain. Your conversations with Mesmer were horrible. Hysterical if I tune out my empathy, but _horrible_. I'm sure the little devil had lots of fun. Don't let others determine what you feel guilty about."

Mercury didn't dare admit she had had fun too, despite the dreary environment and the recurring urge to slap the magician.

"You've been spending time with Enobaria." Seeder pointed out.

The change of subject was incredibly welcome.

"Yes. She doesn't seem to pity me. She is intolerant of weakness but otherwise quite decent company. I guess I do like her, and her attitude does help, in a way."

"I won't comment on her, or Aster's for that matter, general attitude." Seeder said with a sigh. Her lips twitched. "Enobaria threw the most monstrous fit on her second day here. Brutus and Lyme had to bodily restrain her. She had picked Cecelia up and thrown her at Woof, telling him to get her out of his sight. The poor girl was just trying to be friendly and compassionate. She's the sweetest person, frail though." Seeder's voice had taken a hard edge at the last words, as if she blamed someone for it.

Mercury's eyes were glinting. "Are you telling me to blackmail Enobaria?"

"Enobaria hadn't found anyone close to her age to bond with last year. Her liking you gives you the opportunity to keep her a little humble." Seeder said with a tight smile.

Mercury grinned, Aster had been absolutely right about Seeder.

* * *

"Are you going to get a second opinion, or is the diary strictly personal?" Aster asked as she finished scribbling down notes.

She started, not having heard him come in. Mid-morning light pooled through the large windows.

"You want to delve in the murky depth of my troubled subconscious?" she asked, managing a ghost of a smile.

Writing had etched the nightmares into her mind, casting shadows on her surroundings and making her crave for an escape.

He snorted. "No. I would commit suicide before letting a soul, even you, glimpse at something so intimate as _my _nightmares. I was just wondering if Seeder had given you directives."

"No. I guess it's up to me." She raised her eyes to his. "I brushed my hair."

"While chronicling your night terrors. I will clap when you will style your hair while singing to the mirror." He said dryly, leaning against the door.

Mercury smiled coyly, ignoring the all-to-true jibe. "You like my singing?"

Aster blinked, his expression more guarded. "You could make it your talent."

She decided to take it as a compliment. "I don't have the sense of show needed and my voice isn't uncommon enough to top what is already on the market here. Plus, it's way too emotional." She said, shivering just at the idea of performing for Caesar and his audience.

Then she paused.

"Aster, Wiress and Beetee do a monthly show on fun electronic stuff for kids, right? And you show inane chemical stuff which is pretty and full of colors so that they leave you alone to do the serious research?"

"Inane is the accurate description." He muttered, lifting his eyes skywards.

"Singing Tesla coil will awe the kids." She said, an idea forming in her mind. "We have old publications explaining how it worked, I could rebuild one."

Aster's eyebrows shot up in warning. "Mercury, as fascinating as mixing sound engineering and electricity is doubtless to you, the moment you reveal this jewel to the Capitol, they will want to buy it and have it sing their favorite song of the month. You will be hard pressed to answer demands, even if the trend does fade."

"Unless I make it a prize for a lottery or something. To fund the orphanage. With of course a luxury model for those who want to buy it directly, at an outrageous price."

The man threw his hands into the air, his voice rising. "Why do you want to attract attention!"

"I have already attracted attention, Aster. No victor will fall through the cracks anymore as long as Snow lives." Mercury said somberly. "The money could do worlds of good. Good that will not create any unrest! I need to do something."

"I know." Aster replied, an affectionate light in his eyes, reaching for her hand.

The door creaked.

An older avox came in, holding an envelope.

Mercury paled as she read the words. She would know who had bought her for the night at eight pm.

* * *

Five pm. Aster was brooding somewhere and Dante was out doing whatever escorts did. Enobaria was sharing drinks with Brutus leaving Mercury stuck with her overactive imagination as sole, unhelpful, company.

The building was almost empty now. She'd watched the news, learning that a certain Seneca Crane had been appointed Head Gamemaker, despite having had held a minor position all this time. The other Gamemakers hadn't looked too murderous, so maybe he did have good leadership skills. Maybe they just were terrified of Snow too.

But now, she couldn't even concentrate on the screen. She was too busy being plagued by doubts like the use of contraception by Capitol men.

She felt the urge to bang her head against the wall. How do you steel yourself for rape? Rape by a person too thick headed to see it as such?

Going to see Aster was out of the question. Not only would she never manage to cheer him up, but she was dressed like an expensive whore. Which she guessed was the whole point. Still, she didn't want him to ever see her like this.

Better be insulted by Brutus than drive herself crazy, she decided, heading for the cocktail bar. At least she had been retained too tall to have the five-inch heels inflicted on her legs. She was stuck with three-inches but at least she could walk properly.

She passed the table occupied by Blight and Pan and pulled a chair out to between the two victors from Two. Enobaria made a face at her skimpy clothes. Brutus was much less of a diplomat.

"Go snog Aster, if that doesn't turn him on, nothing will."

Mercury's eyes grew flinty, nerves overpowering her common sense. "Make me."

Wrong thing to say.

The muscular Career had her in his arms and into the beer fountain before she'd manage to do more than yelp, she landed with a splash, clothes and all.

Enobaria was howling with laughter as the Capitol barman helped her out, a wide grin on his tattooed face.

"The change of clothes can't be worse than these, Mercury, be grateful!" the girl from Two said merrily between gasps of laughter.

Dazed, she pushed beer-soaked hair out of her eyes, and peeled the sticky fabric off her skin.

Well, washing up and changing would keep her busy another two hours.

She plastered a sweet smile on her face.

"Thanks, Brutus. Exactly what I needed."

"Anytime, Three." He answered with a nasty grin.

Enobaria was still laughing.

Mercury's lips twitched despite herself, she had missed seeing people laugh. For a moment, the cutting ropes ensnaring her every muscle loosened as the laughter drained some of her tension away. She hoped her Crassus' second choice would look less…predatory.

* * *

An expensive car was waiting for her. She was in a rigid, short black and silver dress with a corset that would have made noble ladies of old green with envy. She didn't even want to think about the underwear.

The one upside was that breathing took all her energy.

They rode in silence, past the towers to the borders of the walled city, where extravagant mansions proudly stood.

The active fat rat named Dread burrowing into her intestines was replaced by utter confusion as she recognized the man standing before the magnificent wooden door.

_Dante?_

* * *

**AN: I like messing with people's heads.**_  
_

**Please review.  
**


	43. PG6: Tale of an Honored Enemy

**Thank you Bubbles (are you always that enthusiastic?^^), ETNRL4L, Dragonfan1512, Delirium and Felix Felicis for reviewing. **

**To all my dear Guest readers: Why don't you create an account? I hate not being able to answer reviews (ANs don't count)!  
**

**This chapter was very fun to write, enjoy!**

* * *

"It's a coarse practice" Dante muttered in way of greeting; then he smiled.

"I suppose you haven't had dinner yet?"

How could she possibly have eaten? The hammering in her heart slowed fractionally but she wasn't entirely reassured. What had Dante bought her for?

"No time, I had to change. Brutus threw me in the beer fountain."

"Young men…." Dante said, his brow furrowed in a disapproving scowl. He glanced at her dress.

"My grand-daughter would kill for such a garb. Luckily I raised her mother well enough to forbid her."

Mercury stared at the handsome white-haired man, puzzled by the numbers.

"How old are you exactly?"

Dante sighed dramatically. "Eighty-four." He finally revealed.

_Eighty-four?_ Unbelievable. Mercury's own grand-father had been decrepit at seventy.

"You look fabulous, considering." The girl said, letting him open the front door for her to reveal an impressive entrance hall heavy with large decorated portraits and allegoric marble statues.

"I look wealthy. That's all that's needed."

His dry tone caught her by surprise.

The escort gestured to the huge crystal chandelier, his cloak swishing dramatically with every great stride.

"We had this built two decades ago, back when my second wife could still stand me. Taste was one of the few qualities she took to the twilight years of our marriage." He said with a little smile. "Smell the wall paper."

Mercury complied despite the oddness of the request.

Metal. It smelled like metal.

She arched an eyebrow at Dante.

He grinned, an air of triumph lighting his features. "If President Snow wants this building under surveillance, he will have to ask. I'll have to accept of course, but he hasn't asked yet."

Mercury closed her eyes, faint with relief. A small laugh escaped her lips. "I owe you."

"They'll check," Dante said, leading her into a dining hall large enough to host thirty people. "There is a pill you can take to breach your hymen. It's next to the fruit."

He'd said it as if was the most common of things. Mercury's eyebrows had disappeared into her hairline.

"A pill?" she repeated, incredulous.

Dante shrugged. "Pills to breach it for the girls afraid to ruin their first night. Pills to regrow it for those who want to give it as a token of love later in life."

Mercury slowly shook her head. "How is that meaningful if there's a pill?"

"Maybe it's painful. I never inquired."

_Oh well, if it's painful then it suddenly makes sense_. The boyfriend should just ask his darling to let him punch her.

Mercury's lips had bloomed into a disbelieving smile. This was insane. Relief was making her giddy.

"Do you want a more comfortable dress?" Dante asked, eying her with great amusement.

The smile gave way to a dazzling grin and soon, the girl was steadying herself on one of the carved chairs, laughter resonating on the high ceiling.

Her corset swiftly chastised her for the unseemly display of mirth. Mercury shook her head, gasping for breath.

"You…" she began, struggling to speak, "can't buy me every night."

A shadow crossed Dante's eyes.

"No, but I could this time. There is a pool if you want to build up an appetite."

Pool? As in removing her shoes? That sounded wonderful. She'd probably have agreed to go naked by then.

"The pool sounds brilliant."

The pool was in the middle of a marble room. Mercury gaped, her mind reeling before such luxury.

"You're the architect of this?" She finally whispered.

"My father was quite wealthy and my mother a miser. I never had to restrain myself. My ex-wife drew this room." He said, sounding more fond than bitter.

The one-piece bathing suit Dante found her was a complicated thing, full of pearls, sparkles and loose fabric. She winced when eying herself in the mirror but her smile was still in place. The suit was the opposite of enticing.

She walked back to the pool and almost choked as she saw Dante. It took all her willpower not to howl in laughter.

The fit old man was wearing fluffy purple shorts. _Fluffy_. And he actually almost pulled them off.

"So why buy me?" She asked, slipping in the refreshing water.

"Isn't it obvious?"

Mercury shook her head ruefully. "I've found Capitolites hard to understand."

Dante sighed. His golden eyes grew lost in the distance.

"I was a lad when the Dark Days begun. So certain I had the word all figured out. The rebellion took months to reach the Capitol. We were only aware of it because for the first time we had to ration ourselves and tolerate the peacekeepers crowding the streets. We were so certain it would end soon."

Dante's expression was grim, his lips twisted into a sneer of disgust. "We were wrong. One night, crude bombs were dropped over the city and peacekeepers burst into the houses. They ransacked them, molesting and killing citizens while their own colleagues shot them and tried to maintain order. It was madness, Mercury. We all had our televisions on, barricaded in our own homes, waiting for it to end. The updates were very reassuring, just like they had been for months. Then they changed. Images of indescribable barbarism were broadcasted. District Three had taken over the communication systems and was broadcasting the fighting in the Districts."

Dante sighed again, anger tightening his features. "The rebels weren't always behind the worst atrocities. As the truth was broadcasted, brother turned against brother in these very streets. Rebels and Capitolites alike sabotaged the few peacemaking meetings held in District Two. They tortured in the most horrendous ways the 'traitors' who had dared attempt to compromise. For the longest time, many believed we would wipe each other out."

The man's eyes were bright when he turned towards the victor. "Another rebellion would destroy Panem. Those years were beyond endurance, Mercury. The districts have barely recovered and the population is still below what it was seventy years ago. You have only known Panem at peace. The Games are the crueler aspect of your life. Had you seen war, you would not find it such a high price to pay."

Mercury looked down. She disagreed with Dante. The districts outnumbered the Capitol over 100 to 1. A successful rebellion was just a matter of organization. The price to pay for peace was not just the Games but the day to day oppression in the districts.

_And the plight of victors_, she added venomously.

_Forest fire._ Mercury wondered if she would live long enough to see a spark bright enough to light one.

There was no point in sharing those thoughts with Dante. She now realized the old man before her was not a brainwashed citizen but a person born in comfort who had been scarred by years of war. He nevertheless remained a puzzle.

"You've been an escort for nearly thirty years now. Why?"

Dante's lips twitched. "District children are very interesting, especially Three's."

Mercury rolled her eyes. "Dante, they die weeks after you meet them."

"They still would if I didn't escort them. I'd still see them die during the Games. I prefer meeting them, it's enlightening."

Mercury sighed softly, resting her elbows on the edge of the pool.

Had someone told her she would be one day in the Capitol sharing the inside pool of the most well-toned senior man she had ever seen - ridiculous swimsuit aside - digesting a pill to lose her virginity and arguing the Hunger Games, she would have demanded a taste of those hallucinogens.

She decided to let the matter go. If Dante loved his job and didn't suffer when he watched the Games, good for him. Mercury couldn't hate him, not after tonight.

She bit her lip, an idea forming in her mind.

"Any tips for making sure word goes out that I'm the worst lay in Panem?" she asked brightly.

Dante's immense eyelashes fluttered; a pink tinge appeared on his cheeks as he seemed to ponder the question.

"Odysseus Glitterati has bought you for tomorrow evening, the auction is still open for the rest of the night."

Mercury's face paled. _Tomorrow? _

She swallowed the bile scorching her throat. It would be her last night in the Capitol, of course they would take advantage of it. Her eyes were riveted on Dante's mouth, desperate for a way out.

"It is no secret he detests being mothered. His mother raised him to deeply distrust any form of concern. She was too smothering, objectively so. He put a restraining order on her." Dante said, looking torn between embarrassment and amusement.

A _restraining order_? That sounded mighty serious, Mercury thought wryly. Trouble in Capitol paradise?

"So I'm to say 'Don't be nervous, you can do it. I understand if you have trouble' at awkward moments in a motherly voice?" Mercury said, a nervous grin drawing itself on her cheeks. There were so many ways for that plan to go wrong. But it still was a plan, a blissful illusion of control. "Okay on making him super self-conscious. But how would that influence my next buyer?"

Dante seemed more ill-at-ease by the second.

"Because Odysseus is very proud and afraid you would gossip like all women do. I believe you have the acting skills to succeed in flustering him. I also believe there will always be those who will want to dally with a victor." He sighed. "Mercury, the great majority the kids who grow up here discover the true meaning of making love years after their first time. I've seen you covered in blood and facing much worse things than unsatisfactory intercourse."

_Unsatisfactory intercourse?_

"It's rape." Mercury said tartly, nevertheless committing his advice to memory.

Dante looked away. "It's not personal; rape is about domination. Don't use ugly words, they'll just make it harder."

Mercury glowered at him. Conscious that she had wanted Aster to share Dante's exact opinion. The irony made her lips twitch. _Unsatisfactory intercourse._

She snorted lightly. "Nothing except acting like Odysseus' mum in the bedchamber?" she said airily, wanting to make the old escort squirm.

She smirked in devilish glee as Dante blushed to the root.

A shadow crossed her eyes. "He won't hit me if I do, will he?"

A deep chuckle filled the room. "No, not Odysseus. You'd knock him out. He'd never survive the humiliation."

Snow wouldn't let her survive the satisfaction of it.

The gnawing feeling of dread was back at the pit of her stomach. "How do you know you're safe from Snow?" she whispered.

"I'm too old." He said with a confident tight-lipped smile.

Mercury frowned at him. He didn't fear death anymore?

Dante sighed, an odd smile on his face. "My generation remembers the Dark Days. Whether we support executions in the Districts or just feel it is revenge taken too far, we are aware of what the Hunger Games represent. I doubt many of my daughter's friends will live as long as I will. Their way of life destroys their body faster than our medicine can cure. They are lost. They have nothing to fight for. They are autumn leaves carried by the wind, throwing themselves in all forms of entertainment to fill the void inside them. They have no rooted beliefs, no challenges, no cause."

Mercury eyed him strangely. "That's almost what we say of Capitolites. They have sparkling smoke altering their vision of the world."

The old man nodded. "Few children want to believe in necessary evil. Few parents want to burden their children with it. Our children are ignorant. The newer generations have crafted a beautiful web of illusions; illusions that will not shatter at a reaped child's cry for justice but that are more vulnerable to what happens at home. My generation is too tired to speak out against Snow's actions against Zephyr, but if he targets us, we will speak and the youngsters will listen. We are the last to have fought a war. Snow is not foolish enough to antagonize us."

"I almost wish he were. Rebellion in the Capitol has a delightful ring to it." Mercury said, now seeing the man she had once thought her enemy in a different light. She was almost amazed to find she might grow to respect him.

The exercise unknotted her muscles as she swam, relishing in the feel of the water around her. Only the pain in her chest prevented her to appreciate fully her night of freedom. Aster was doubtless still in his quarters, wondering what was being inflicted upon her; his imagination conjuring the grizzliest scenarios. She hoped he had had the sense to take a sleeping draught. She knew that hope was futile.

"What are we eating?" She eventually asked Dante, forcing herself to be cheerful for his sake.

"Nothing you'll ever have heard about in your unrefined little district." The man replied, staring down at her with a superior smirk.

Mercury shot him a playful dark look.

His condescending words were forgiven as she sunk her teeth in a wonder named _chocolate_.

She slept in a soft bed, alone.

* * *

**She won't always be so lucky. But I felt like giving her a break. What did you think of this?**


	44. PG7: Seizing opportunities

Dawn coated the city in a river of sparkling diamonds, rousing the caged birds on the spacious balconies. Their gentle songs celebrated the new morning like a choir of silvery flutes.

Mercury's smile was resigned. No matter how enchanting, the city was but scrumptious icing on a worm-infested cake. There was a sickness in the Capitol, the sickness of obliviousness and frivolity, of comfort born of cowardice, of depravity born of idleness.

She made a detour towards the avox wing as soon as she was back in the tower.

The mute servants' eyes were wide in confusion and fright when she burst into the room.

"Hello, dear hardworking people." She said brightly. "My stylist, drunk as he gets at night, is not waking up before ten. I need something that is at least knee-length, not too low cut and not too outrageously colored or decorated for the day. Preferably not crocodile scales either. My wardrobe is empty except for night clothes and I look like a hooker."

She finally recognized the man that had often kept watch in her room signaling to a few others and taking charge. She tried not to look too interested in the way his hands gracefully signed words she couldn't understand.

He seemed rather amused as he finally brought her a snake-skin brown and gray dress that covered her from neck to mid-thigh. A little short, but subdued enough by her Capitol-adjusted standards. He'd even thought about sensible matching shoes and underwear.

Mercury pecked his cheek. "You're a darling, thank you."

The man looked so thunderstruck that she felt a surge of guilt. "Don't worry. I'll grow as condescending as the rest of them in no time. I just need to adapt." She whispered, her expression apologetic, before leaving the room.

She brushed her hair, her eyes drilling holes in the wall, imagining that she was shooting Snow as the comb slid through her hair. Another night of drug-induced blissful sleep. She vowed not to give in to temptation more than twice a week but she had to admit she'd never felt so good since the Games' end.

And now she had to tell Aster she hadn't been touched without getting Dante in trouble.

She found the man dressed and asleep on a chair. His expression was all but peaceful.

His eyelids seemed to flicker. Mercury gently shook him awake, standing _behind_ the chair.

Waking a victor, especially one trapped in vicious nightmares, was always rather tricky. A hand grasped Mercury's arm painfully as soon as she tightened her hold on his shoulders. Had she been closer to Aster, his other hand would've probably tightened around her neck.

His black eyes flew open, a menacing light in them.

"Straighten up, a hundred and twenty pounds are about to land on your legs." The girl said in gentle tones before sitting in his lap.

Pain filled his eyes as his hold on her arm loosened. Unanswered questions twisted his drawn face.

Mercury smiled tightly. "Well, remember that experiment we made, in which we replaced copper with silica just for the sake of it?"

Aster nodded faintly, his anguish giving way to piercing curiosity. He'd always been one for obtuse references, Mercury therefore trusted him to read into this one.

"It went about that well. So I guess it could've been worse." She chuckled wryly. "You'll never guess who bought me."

That experiment had been their best success and the reason Aster had given her free reign of his private lab when she'd turned fifteen.

Relief flooded on Aster's features.

"Surprise me." He murmured, his arm snaking around her waist. The mischievous light in his dark eyes took years away from his face. Mercury wished the image etched in her memory, now furiously fighting the urge to kiss him.

"A gentle old man who's pretty easy on the eyes. Taught me things I'd never thought I'd learn from a Capitolite." Mercury grinned. "Long hair, died purple in places."

Aster's eyebrows shot up. He lifted Mercury off his lap and kissed her firmly on the lips.

"I'm going to kill him." He promised in silken tones, an unfathomable expression on his face. "Wait here."

_Oh no, poor Dante_. Mercury winced, aware Aster was about to embarrass the older man to an early grave.

"Can't you just kiss me properly for once?" She complained, leaning against the chair's back and stretching her nude legs.

Aster swiftly covered his surprise with a sexy smirk. "Womanhood makes you wanton."

Mercury batted her eyelashes at him, a helpless grin lighting her face at his biting sarcasm. No matter how exhausted and bitter, if the man still had suspected that she had been molested, he would never have made such a double-edged remark. "No, it's just you."

She could see that Aster was ill-at-ease. That desire, and not angle, lit the enthralling desire in his eyes was plain as day. The cloak of misery the last weeks had draped over the young woman's frail shoulders was lifted for one shining moment as she closed the distance separating her from the dark-haired man.

Her senses banished her reason as she lost herself to a storm of new emotions, her mind spinning from the enrapturing scent of the man she loved. Oblivious to all but the new hunger that seeped into the deepest recesses of her being, she allowed cravings too long denied to finally express themselves.

She was spared the embarrassment of teeth clanging and awkward inexperienced fumbling as the thirty year old took control of the embrace.

Her worries melted away as a scorching inferno ignited her body.

The rapture was almost too intense to be comfortable. Unaccustomed to being pushed aside, her analytical mind reeled, struggling to reassert herself. A single conscious thought pierced through her trance. She could not possibly be his first kiss.

Mercury was more relieved than jealous. Above all, she was very curious. Who had those women been? Had he been willing?

A modicum of control reestablished over the rampaging emotions threatening to consume her, she pushed Aster away.

"This is a terrible place" She said, struggling to slow her racing heart. "This…_conversation_ is not over."

Aster's eyes were still hooded as he reluctantly let her go.

"I won't damage Dante too much." He whispered, his expression betraying the fact his mind was on something very different altogether.

He spun on his feet and gracefully exited the room, his long strides echoing in the hallway, leaving a blushing Mercury behind.

A content smile bloomed on her lips. Playing mother to a depraved Capitolite would never erase the rapture of this kiss. Nothing Snow would do to her would make her forget what was real, what truly mattered.

An unknown avox interrupted her daydreaming mere minutes after Aster had left. Without meeting her eyes he handed her a slip of paper.

_You're awaited on the first floor, now._

Unsigned.

Mercury's breath hitched. Even among Capitolites, there was only one person that was that rude.

Snow was waiting for her with two other people in a small room. One of the men had a big suitcase; he was standing next to the only chair.

"How's Dante in bed?" the President asked maliciously.

"Younger than his years, I guess." She answered coolly, making sure her face conveyed no emotion. "I made him happy, as is my duty."

"Surprised he would buy you?" Snow said; his eyes narrowed in suspicion.

"He's a man of the city. It was better than learning with a stranger."

The small man nodded grudgingly, as if aching to rip her memories from her mind and to check for himself.

"Dr. Zaius will perform just a routine test. You're a satisfying little pet, Mercury, I truly expected more fire."

"Fire is a scarce commodity. Cold reason says the odds are overwhelmingly in your favor." Mercury said with a mirthless smile.

His smile was as vile as his soul.

This new attempt to humiliate her was petty and pathetic. Snow already had videos of her defecating in the arena and he believed having a doctor test the integrity of her hymen in front of him would break her? Did he think District children had the same attitude to nudity than Capitol women? Surely he had seen that she hadn't had qualms about inviting Dante and Aster in her room in a nightdress.

She didn't bother to conceal any of her revulsion as she spread her legs on the chair, aware that Snow fed on it like a vampire thrived on blood.

"I hope you'll have as much fun tonight and when we'll summon you back to the Capitol." Snow wished, once it was clear there was nothing incriminating to be found.

Mercury snapped her legs shut, staring stone-faced at the floor.

The three left the room.

She stood up. Her limbs were shaking as she slid her underwear back on, the gelid feel of the man's prodding instruments still deep inside her.

She turned eyes full of hate towards the spot Snow had just vacated. Her lips twisted in a sneer.

She'd remembered him taller, more impressive and somehow inhuman. He'd seized control of Panem like winter nights descended unhindered on shivering cities. Now he was just a crafty man drunk with his own power. His coarse little move had destroyed the mystique of his flawless overthrow. The master puppeteer was not above needless displays of power, he was just_ human_.

Mercury struggled to conceal her distaste as she went to put Dante out of his misery. She'd almost wanted Snow to be pure in his malevolence, free of base drives and only concerned by a grand vision of worldly dominance. Her lips quirked in self-deprecation, Panem didn't even get a grand evil overlord, no Sir. They got saddled with a manipulative five-foot-three foul-smelling old man and that was all that was needed to keep them miserable.

She found Dante's room shut. A young Capitolite was waiting in the corridor.

The short young woman had light-green skin and a matching curly wig. Her clothes were incredibly preppy and she was now gaping at the victor, a smile blooming on her painted lips.

"You're Mercury, aren't you? I couldn't believe how brave you were during the Games."

Mercury's eyebrows shot to her hairline. She had a_ fan_. She bit back a chuckle at the absurdity of it.

"Thank you, I'm honored." She lied amiably. "Have you seen Dante, Ma'am?"

The young woman seemed to puff up in anger. "He was debriefing me; we had the whole morning," she said in outrage, her fists on her hips, "and that rude man dragged him away without a word of apology. No manners at all!"

Mercury was torn between laughter and worry. The pulsing vein in the irate woman's throat seemed to herald an impeding stroke.

She smiled. "You're one of the new escorts aren't you, Ma'am?"

With Seven's and Twelve's having resigned in addition to the deaths, five spots were to be rapidly filled. Mercury's guess proved true.

"Yes, I'm Effie. Effie Trinket." The Capitolite said with a nervous grin. "I'll work for District Twelve." She added, some of her enthusiasm fading. "It's my first job, I'm sure they'll see I can do much better in time."

"It's a great opportunity, Effie. Bring just one victor to the Capitol and you'll make history. Few other escorts have that opportunity. It's a taxing job though."

The escort straightened, oblivious to the sarcasm and betraying the fact that she wasn't that much older than Mercury. "I'll do my very best to."

Mercury was tempted to point out that Three's tributes would have to die for that, but the idea to make Effie uncomfortable didn't hold so much appeal anymore. These people were just pitiable.

She took an apologetic breath. "Have you seen where my mentor dragged Dante off to?"

Effie's hand flew to her mouth. "That was your mentor? I'm so sorry, I didn't recognize him." She pointed towards the left. "Good luck with him." She wished, looking mortified about her earlier unflattering comments.

"Good luck with the job, Effie."

The escort's smile was so bright that Mercury almost blushed as she headed after the two men. She was keenly aware that she had made the woman's day. It made her inexplicably depressed.

The victor grinned ruefully when Aster's cutting silken words reached her ears.

"I am just amazed that you could have Mercury come back with a guilty smile on her lips, no matter how practical she may be. You not only corrupted a terrified child to vice but shattered my conception of old age."

Dante didn't deserve that. Aster knew full well that the man hadn't touched her.

She made herself known before her not-quite-lover could indulge his vindictiveness any further, not wanting the stiff-faced Dante to accidentally confirm Snow's suspicions.

"You had enough fun, Aster. I'm sure you'll outperform Dante even if you'll never match his swimming pool, so stop fretting."

Aster froze, pink slowly tingeing his cheeks as his lips parted in shock. Mercury belatedly realized she had all but invited the man to her bed.

"Women love swimming pools," a harassed looking Dante said with a forced smile. He winked at Mercury before exiting the room.

He paused by the door, shooting the still stunned Aster a mischievous look. "We had fun though, didn't we?" he pointedly said.

_Oh, grow up! Both of you._

"More than I would have thought possible, Dante."

"It's as if I was biologically programmed to enjoy it." She added coyly, unable to resist.

She hadn't thought it possible for a stoical man to radiate so much embarrassment. Dante flashed her a small exasperated smile and escaped into the corridor.

Aster's ardent stare threatened to make her melt. She swallowed, forcing herself to look stern instead of helplessly bewitched.

"Aster, he's a _Capitolite. _Don't antagonize him more than he retains amusing." Mercury ground out, shaking her head in dismay. "He's considerate but he still has the power to squash us."

_Snow is listening to you_, her eyes shouted.

Aster blinked before forcing himself to inhale. "You're right, I'll apologize. I'm glad he was… gentle."

Mercury's lips bloomed into a smile. Aster never apologized, but what Dante had done was in no way trivial. The Capitolite deserved some recognition.

"Thank you. It'll be easier for everyone."

Aster's eyes turned to the window, a shadow darkening his features. "And you're leaving tonight again."

Her smile turned sour, tension reasserting its hold on her every muscle. "I'll be back as soon as I can."

Therefore midnight, unless Odysseus Glitterati wasn't her only buyer that night. Standing was suddenly too taxing to be comfortable.

Aster tapped his long fingers on the window sill, his sharp traits unforgiving in the sunlight. "I'll ingest a pill and take a nap."

"Thank you." She muttered, wrapping her arms around his chest.

They stood in silence; the morning's bliss fading as the Games' specter tightened its hold over them. They were only reeds, bending to the whims of the wind.

"Mercury!"

A flustered Caesar Flickerman all but sprinted into the room.

"Yes?" she said, failing to mask her surprise as she pulled away from her mentor.

"I need you on stage as soon as possible," the Capitolite said, wringing his hands.

Caesar Flickerman needed _her _help? What was the world coming to?

It was too good an occasion to miss. "Buy me tonight."

Caesar arched an eyebrow. "Excuse me?"

"I'll not only cooperate but be downright helpful if you buy me tonight. I'm sure you have a guest room or kids to entertain."

Caesar eyed her shrewdly. "Fine, pretty lady. I'll top the bidders from midnight to dawn. You'll cope with your earlier client, I'm busy. If you upset my boys, I will destroy you."

"As long as we're both clear on it." She said with a polite smile. "Why so desperate, Mr. Flickerman?"

Caesar shot her a dirty look. "Minister Blueblood has finished building his mansion. Use the word _castle_, it'll stroke his ego. He was to make one of our most popular artists visit it, to keep the audience's interest. The woman is unfortunately unavailable. You'll have to do since you've proven yourself able to appreciate Capitol architecture. "

"Must be a powerful and ill-tempered minister to make you panic like this," Mercury pointed out. "I'll be perfect, Caesar, you'll be the only one not fooled."

The Capitolite smiled broadly. "I'll even make sure your train to Three scheduled for tomorrow isn't delayed if the show is a success. Put on a long black leather dress and a big feathered hat; Blueblood has shares in both manufactures if the fashion sticks. Meet me at the main entrance in forty minutes."

He rushed out of the room.

"Bargaining with _Caesar Flickerman_?" Aster whispered, his voice harsh as steel.

"I'm covering his hindquarters. I'll be more genuine if I know I won't spend my night naked at an all-boy's party somewhere in town like it's bound to happen for the dawn slot. It's a win for both of us. And his kids will be boasting for the next sixty years. If he's offended, he'll just 'forget' to uphold his part of the bargain."

"It's not him I'm worried about." The man admitted as he absently caressed her hand.

"Caesar is Snow's best ally; he keeps the Capitol tamer than anyone else. Don't insult the President's intelligence. He'll have a thousand more occasions to make me miserable. Now let's go give Crassus a heart attack by telling him I have half an hour to prepare for a show with _Minister Blueblood_."

Mercury wished to be as confident as she sounded. She prayed that Snow would not consider her deal an act of defiance.

"I need to meet with the press members who'll follow us to Three. Logistics…." Aster said, glowering already at the prospect.

"Go then." Mercury said, stealing a kiss. "I have to run."

Crassus fainted.

Mercury brought her hand to her forehead in aggravation as her prep team started fussing over the weak-willed man. The other stylists had all left the day before and Dante had the same style of dress since the twentieth Games.

She ground her teeth, desperate to earn that night at Caesar's.

Her eyes flew open, a luminous idea forming in her mind.

She ran back towards Dante's quarters and grinned in relief when she saw that the woman was still with him.

"Effie, I'm going on screen with Mr. Blueblood and I have half an hour to find clothes. My stylist is indisposed. Can you please help me? There is a big supply of clothes in the avox wing and I know roughly what he wants. My hair will be under a hat anyway."

Effie's eyes were wide as saucers. "Half an hour?" she mouthed, her voice a mere squeak.

"I'll tell the whole Capitol that it was your doing only if he's happy with it." Mercury promised, concealing her chagrin that anyone could actually _want_ to become an escort.

Effie gulped. "Okay, where is it? Let's go!"

Mercury hastily led the way, grudgingly impressed at the escort's brave face. Nothing could terrify a Capitolite more than having _half an hour _to dress up.

"Pardon my ignorance, but who is Minister Blueblood?" She asked the green-skinned woman as a pair of avoxes led them to the over-sized closet.

Nervous trilling laughter escaped Effie's lips. "He's the Minister of Justice, the highest authority of the law! Whenever he inspects a person, he always finds enough to condemn them. He's a very serious man, and also the fourth fortune in the Capitol."

_Oh._ No wonder Caesar wanted a victor who could lie convincingly.

They found matching shoes just in time.

"Don't let Dante unhire you. You're awesome." Mercury said, letting the escort arrange a colorful headdress over her hair.

Effie was flushed with exhaustion, but her proud grin was bright enough to dull the sun's shine.

Mercury blinked back a sudden onslaught of tears. Escorting would just hollow out the young woman, either snuffing the last stubborn flickers of humanity or forcefully ripping the illusion from Effie's eyes and plunging her into a world of lies and suffering.

* * *

**AN: Who got the Planet of the Apes reference?^^**

**One more chapter in the Capitol and we're back in District Three. Some real action in the next one, stay tuned.  
**


	45. PG8: A favored slave

Mercury stepped out of the car, soon to be swallowed in a mass of cameramen and journalists who swiveled towards her like famished beasts offered prey.

Caesar snapped his fingers. The crowd parted before him so swiftly that Mercury's eyes sought a force-field device. There was none. The victor lowered her eyes to conceal the green-eyed envy that suddenly tugged at her soul with the nefarious intensity of an unquenchable craving. The suited man's casual display of power was an agonizing reminder of how little her own preferences were acknowledged.

"Don't offend him," Caesar warned for the umpteenth time. He had fed Mercury enough information on Minister Blueblood to fry her synapses. For the life of her, the disorientated orphan could only remember the part about him domesticating lynxes and cremating his outdated clothes before storing them in jeweled jars. The idea of a vestment graveyard amused her to no end.

"Caesar, I haven't yet offended _President Snow,_" she said in soothing tones.

Caesar let loose a sharp chuckle. "You'd be astonished at how well they get along."

_Why, Blueblood sounds even more lovable now._

That's when Mercury saw it, nested between sun-kissed towers. It defied both imagination and the laws of physics.

Turrets snaked out of every wall, each of a different material, from dark wood to marble or even a coral simile, with no rhyme or reason to their shapes. Mercury blinked, clueless as to how the base of the building sustained the weight of the top. It seemed like the dream house of an over-imaginative child who had yet to study gravity.

"Mind-boggling isn't it?" Caesar said, his jovial show-face now firmly in place.

"If you're not impressed, you are too blasé to live." Mercury muttered, her eyes still glued to the mansion, almost waiting for reality to reestablish its hold and topple the whole.

Caesar lifted a hand to his ear, revealing a small communication device.

"He's coming out in thirty seconds. We're airing in ten. Don't fail me."

Mercury smiled, forcing her facial muscles to relax. While she would never match the Capitol's enthusiasm for the extravagant and bizarre, not when each stone and flourish was a loathsome testament to the squandered life force of Panem's exploited workers, her fascination was not feigned.

The man who regally exited the opal coated doors was uncannily natural-looking for an inhabitant of the fortress city. Cotton-like silver hair cascaded in stern ringlets around his pale face, conferring an accusing edge to all his glances. He was thin as a corpse, joining the ranks of the Capitolites who starved themselves to prove their iron discipline, unwittingly revealing the madness sheltered under the sparkling roofs. Clad entirely in white, without a single jewel or other trapping of wealth, he outshone all the brightly outfitted onlookers.

Mercury blinked in instinctive fright as their eyes met, instantly revising her earlier judgment. Twin lifeless diamonds replaced the man's corneas, sucking the warmth out of the area as if the Minister of Justice were a specter with an unreasoning hate of life.

"Your Honor," she said with as much deference as she could convincingly muster.

"Your clothes are tasteful," the tall man replied, a pleased calculating glint in his cold eyes.

Mercury smiled back charmingly, swallowing back her distaste and skeptical about her clothes launching a fashion. If the man was happy about her advertising the wares he had shares in, good for him.

"The credit goes to Mr. Flickerman and Twelve's very new escort, Effie Trinket."

Caesar broadly displayed a dazzling array of ivory teeth, stepping in and flawlessly directing the conversation.

Mercury decided to express curiosity on anything Blueblood's dead eyes rested on more than a couple of seconds, in case he had a tale to tell. The high-ranking Capitolite swiftly caught on and exhibited his _castle _with so much vibrancy and feeling that many journalists had tears in their eyes.

While she didn't share their collective hysteria, even Mercury found the mansion intellectually stupefying. It was something truly different.

The orphan's lips twitched in wonder as she stepped on a mirror-like platinum floor. Dozens of luxurious niches were carved in the sparkling granite walls of the cave-like empty room, many too high to reach without a ladder. Fires of all kinds and colors cast dancing shadows that gave the place a faerie warmth.

With the beguiling pull of a siren song, the overwhelming decor dulled Mercury's repugnance at artistic prowesses slick with the invisible blood of unnamed District citizens who were murdered to indulge a minority's greed. She found herself enchanted, the child in her reveling at the sheer uselessness of the grandiose rooms. She turned to the white-clad man, her eyes sparkling with grudging awe.

Movement behind one of the biggest braziers caught her eye.

A glint of metal.

Her wonderment morphed to acute focus as the threat registered; fire shot through her veins as her heightened senses processed her surroundings.

The faerie atmosphere shattered.

She was in the Games again. Light made her a target; time was her enemy.

_Move!_

Before Caesar had the chance to investigate her dramatic change in posture, the victor had pushed the skeleton-like Minister of Justice out of sight.

Twin shots ripped through the air.

Pain exploded in Mercury's calf as her lithe form sought shelter behind a granite asperity.

"Damn it!" She hissed, unheard in the cacophony of rising screams, tightening her hold on the shocked Capitolite.

Terror deforming his features, the gray-haired man heaved himself back up with surprising strength, crossed the few meters separating them for the nearest door and shut it back behind them, revealing a large wine cellar lit by hundreds of electric baubles. The lighting was uncomfortably dim; was it a consequence of faulty craftsmanship or designed for effect, Mercury's heart-rate struggled to slow as she failed to remain upright.

"You're friends with Snow, right?" Mercury gasped on the floor, her eyes blurring.

"Yes! That wasn't one of his people," Blueblood said, frantically locking the thick door behind them. Gaunt with fear, he looked more haunted than haunting.

Mercury forced herself to breathe despite the agony, contradictory feelings assaulting her.

She had saved the life of one of _Snow's supporters_. Not that his death would've helped the Districts any.

She wasn't naive enough to hope Snow would treat her better because of it.

She had maybe ruined Zephyr's remaining supporters' last chance of reclaiming the government.

Capitol rebels would doubtless have supported Zephyr over Snow, just like slaves would prefer a strict master to an abusive one.

Freedom seemed a word invented to crush their spirits and sour the morsels of happiness life deigned to cast their way.

Bile scorched her throat.

"Maybe rebels…."

"Oh please," Mercury snapped, the excruciating pain shattering her mask, "they'd have thrown a grenade. Nobody knows who you are outside the Capitol."

The man blinked at her, an ear pressed against the door. Caesar's voice could be heard above the screams, struggling to restore order.

"Really?" He said, looking as if his birthday had been canceled.

The victor grimaced, taking a better look at her leg as sluggishness invaded her body. Thick blood was oozing out of small wound. It seemed the bullet hadn't exited her limb.

Mercury forced her voice to remain curt, before her hold on reality slipped beyond what Capitol medicine could reliably fix. "Would you mind tearing a strip off your shirt so I can stop the blood flow, Your Honor?"

"Just answer my question," the man ordered, his hands nevertheless reaching for the fabric.

"We know little of the Capitol except that we are to obey and support the regime," she painstakingly explained. "We only see those who appear on TV, mostly during the Games: Templesmith, Caesar. Capitol politics are not broadcasted."

"Why?" He finally asked, fastening the cloth tightly around her thigh. It was obvious he wasn't talking about the visibility of Capitol politicians anymore.

"If Snow is angry, my quality of life suffers," Mercury answered through gritted teeth, desperate for this conversation to end before her vulnerability could be used to undo all the efforts she had made to ensure herself a chance at a future.

"Do you like my house," He said after a tense pause, eying her strangely.

A ghost of a smile graced the young woman's lips. "It's awesome."

A loud knock rattled the door.

"It's Caesar. The peacekeepers have it under control, and we have caught the culprit."

Blueblood rose to his feet, any hint of warmth fleeing from his face. He was cold as a statue and dangerously forbidding when he flung the cellar door open.

The glare of projectors caused Mercury to wince; the mutter of journalists failed to pierce through the agonizing pain.

"I need a doctor and an explanation," the Minister of Justice said in glacial tones.

* * *

Aster was seated next to her when she woke up.

She was back in the tower. The pain was gone.

"Nice heroics," Aster said, his eyes soft despite the sarcasm.

Seeing him was a better balm than anything mankind had ever engineered. It was as if warm honey trickled down her throat, removing any lingering bitterness and firing a content shiver up her spine.

"I'd never have gotten away with letting him get shot less than three feet away from where I was standing." She replied, pushing herself upright. "I'd thought the whole 'Capitolites murdering each other phase' was over."

Aster's lips thinned into a cynical smile. "Rest assured, Mercury. The incident is unrelated to the _rebel attack _in the coliseum. The culprit had lost his wits to drugs and was a prodigious fraud awaiting Blueblood's rightful condemnation."

Mercury rolled her eyes. _Typical_. At least this time they hadn't blamed district rebels.

"I didn't look too pathetic wounded in the cellar, did I?"she said, keeping her eyes on the man's long hands to avoid fluttering her eyelids like a fool. Relief made her want to crawl out of the covers and into his arms. She settled for grasping his hands before she could let her imagination wonder on how dexterous he might be.

"Oh no, it was _very_ dramatic."

The girl chuckled at his wry expression. "What time is it?"

"Six."

He smiled thinly, squeezing her hand back. "Caesar confirmed on screen that we would be leaving tomorrow at ten am."

A sigh of relief escaped Mercury's lips. Home, at last.

With no news from Three since she had won the Games, the victor was desperate to see Finder and Grace again, if only to assure herself that they were still alive.

"Crassus has recovered his wits," Aster informed her, his expression cold once more.

"Dress like a hooker time, yippee. I'm hungry," Mercury said with a forced smile.

"I'll leave you in Dante's expert care, you'll excuse me," Aster tightly answered, pulling away from her and soon vanishing from the room.

Mercury stifled a sob as she was left alone. If he couldn't handle waiting with her, how was she to go through it?

* * *

Caesar ambushed Mercury and Dante in the otherwise empty dining room.

A practiced charming smile split his features when he sat next to her.

"Coriolanus was kind enough to bend the rules and permit me to hire you for the two consecutive night slots. He also would like you to pass his greetings to a certain 'Finder'. Are you aware of what victor patronage is? "

Mercury mind froze, almost missing the last question. Snow was humoring her; nothing she would ever do would free her from his clutches. He knew of Finder. He knew everything.

"I don't," she finally whispered, struggling to breathe.

"Instead of being sold for definite short periods of time, you would depend on a single individual in exchange for exclusive and specialized service. Vicugna, for example, has just retired from Pax's employ. She helped organize peacekeeper drills for decades. She didn't even spend that much time in the Capitol."

Vicugna, the infamous self-trained District One tribute who had been the first to use the word 'Career' during the seventh Hunger Games' interviews and had encouraged the richer Districts to make training a way of life. She'd encountered immediate success: by the time the fifteenth Hunger Games were announced, Districts One's, Two's and Four's glory-seeking killing machines had begun to make a name for themselves in the arenas.

"Minister Blueblood wants me to finish the electrical aspects of his castle?" Mercury said, still distracted by Snow's threat to Finder. She vaguely remembered the cellar's poorly done lighting.

"He's a man who pays his debts. You have useful skills and getting such specialized and uncommon workmanship is difficult without having a technician come to the Capitol."

And that was forbidden of course. She remained suspicious of Blueblood's notion of gratitude.

"But why does he not just hire me and let Snow do what he wants with me when I'm not needed?"

"Because this way, you're _his_ and no one infringes on his property. Snow owns the great majority of victors. Now Minister Blueblood will own one. It's... not so bad for his status," Caesar explained with a tight smile.

Mercury chuckled dryly. She still had to get used to being property. "I see. I find the idea much more attractive than been passed around a few months a year."

"Few victors retain their popularity past the first few years. Cashmere might but…" Caesar let the sentence die when he saw the icy glare the blue-eyed girl was giving him. He wisely changed the subject.

"Wear something my wife won't frown at tonight. Say orange; I have never found orange attractive." Caesar said with a bright smile, before leaving again.

Mercury refrained from rolling her eyes. Caesar's wife would really suspect him of being imbecilic enough to hire a victor for sex under her nose?

"Patronage is a good option for victors," Dante commented once the host was gone.

He huffed at the young woman's pinched expression. "Stop looking as if the table is going to morph into a monster and bite you. You can allow yourself to feel lucky."

_Lucky?_ Other people could dispose of her life and of her loved ones at their whim. Today she was in favor with someone who valued her acting and engineering skills over her body, but she had no guarantees for tomorrow. She had needed to get shot for a high-ranking minister to be used for slave labor instead of as a sex slave.

Caesar's haunting words rang in Mercury's ears. _Cashmere might. _Maybe she was indeed lucky.

"Some slaves are well treated," the young woman mused with a tired smile.

Dante mirrored her smile, unable to conceal a wince at the word slave. "Exactly."

Mercury bit into her dessert with renewed passion. "So, if I drown myself in chocolate and pile up weight, how unattractive will that make me?"

Dante sighed. "Do not underestimate our cosmetic surgeons. But do enjoy the chocolate."

That at least she could enjoy.

* * *

Mercury let the hot water scorch her skin, wishing the jet would wash the sickness of the world away.

Odysseus had been all Dante has implied: a man of little self-confidence behind the mask of cheer and self-importance. He had been ridiculously easy to fluster when he had been confronted with a naive girl desperate to reassure him on imaginary flaws instead of the exotic warrior he'd probably expected.

Of course for it to work she'd had had to get naked very quickly, for the clothes were not designed to project naiveté.

He'd looked relieved when he had been done, as if he wasn't so sure why he was doing it anymore but performed out of ego.

Immersed in the act, Mercury had felt more uncomfortable and silly than assaulted. There had been nothing intimidating about the man.

Back in the tower, with another hour before she would head to Caesar's residence, the scorching water failed to erase Cashmere's statuesque body and perfect face from her troubled mind.

Mercury had been in control and the Capitolite had had very little satisfaction from their encounter, yet she felt degraded in her womanhood and disgusted for having smiled encouragingly at him the whole time.

She would be safe for a while, at least from being molested.

How many victors were not?

Quark and Chrysoberyl had married upstanding Capitolites, had the handsome man and the regal Career been given a choice?

For the first time, Mercury envied Enobaria for her monstrous golden teeth.

* * *

"Weren't you scared when One threatened you with her whip?"

Trajan and Constantine Flickerman, respectively six and eight years old, had a horrific nosiness about them.

They were undeniably cute, even if their already dyed bushy hair limited the amount of empathy Mercury could muster. Children were innocent because they could not be held accountable of their actions but innocence didn't equate with kindness and the two boys were now sorely testing her self-control.

"I knew Drake would save me." She said with a fake tight smile.

"He lost though." Trajan said, his thumb firmly stuck in his little mouth.

The term is _horribly murdered for no reason,_ Munchkin.

"Wanting to help people and make them happy is very beautiful quality."

"Yeah, but he lost." His brother echoed. "So you weren't scared?"

"I was terrified. I won because I didn't let it make me stupid."

The two nodded, staring at her in wide-eyed awe.

Mercury could feel fury sizzling in her painfully tense limbs. Two perfectly healthy boys, on their way to be shaped into twisted similes of human beings who would one day maybe even buy their very own victor for the night. Desperate to keep a light facade despite their wounding inquisitiveness, she toyed with a half-dozen simultaneous hare-brained plans to kidnap Caesar's little heirs and smuggle them back to Three, where a decent family would teach them true values.

Nephthys Flickerman, a stunning woman with impossibly wide feline eyes and ears, clad almost entirely in golden jewelry, soon joined them on the grass-covered terrace.

"Why don't you show them some wrestling techniques, Mercury? They'll be awake until dawn if they don't evacuate some energy."

Mercury blinked. The woman wanted her to toss her offspring around?

Maybe giving them a bedtime instead of waiting for them to drop from fatigue would be more educational….

Yet it did sound infinitely better than another round of Games-related questions.

"Atlas will supervise in case they get over-enthusiastic." The woman added, pointing to the muscled man-servant who hadn't let Mercury out of his sight since the victor had set foot in the dwelling.

"They might get bruises." Mercury reasonably said, not wanting to incur the wrath of the Capitolite were her spawn to snivel.

"Who cares, we're tough!" Constantine said, now tugging at her arm.

The young woman blocked his brother's punch with a hand and lifted the little boy by the arm, squeezing to test his resistance to pain.

His chubby face scrunched up but he just burst into childish giggles, eyes sparkling with excitement at the prospect of a new game. Such a normal little boy.

The mother granted her an encouraging smile, the warning light in her dark eyes unmistakable.

Squeals soon filled the night air as Mercury forced herself to focus on the boys' genuine delight instead of what they would grow up to become.

Besides, there was something liberating about throwing squirming Capitol children to the ground.

* * *

**AN: And that concludes the Capitol arc.**

**What do you think of my portrayal of Capitolites (From the escorts to Snow, Caesar or Blueblood)? Of the politics in the Capitol and on how the victors have to act not to get in trouble?  
**


	46. PG9: Stranger or simply home?

**AN: I strongly suggest you read Mercury's reaping chapter again if you haven't already done so. I will not be reintroducing at length the people who she interacted with before the Games and they will appear here. There are not many people to keep track of, but you will miss things if you've forgotten by now.**

**Thank you to my reviewers as always.**

Mercury's fingernails rhythmically tapped against the table. Her feet were unceremoniously propped between the now cold turkey and caramelized spicy meatballs as her eyes drank in the sight of Three's tall spires, glistening like silver needlepoints at the edge of the bare in-between that separated Districts.

_Just a couple more hours._

The two victors had not even been granted the illusion of privacy. Capitol journalists shared their wagon, chirping about the impeding interview as if Aster and she were not there. She was sure that Snow had selected them on purpose for Effie Trinket was living proof that manners in the Capitol were consistent with the ones taught in the Districts.

Aster and Mercury had yet to utter a word since they had set foot on the train; it had almost become a game.

"Do you think she has a boyfriend in Three?" Journalist One whispered, with the discretion of clattering silverware.

Her colleague's head-jerk towards Aster was so abrupt Mercury feared the man had ruptured a vertebra.

"Maybe it was sudden…." Behind the organic yellow flowers that seemed part of her face, the first Capitolite's eyes were dancing at the prospect of scandal.

Aster met Mercury's eyes, a sardonic twist to his lips. Mercury smirked back, deciding contemptuous mirth was undeniably healthier than despairing at the shallowness of the world.

Her eyes fell on her dress, a long-sleeved dark-blue garb woven from the dyed furs of various little animals. She had run her fingers on every steam and stitch to make sure there was no listening device incorporated. It kept her hands busy and was somewhat relaxing. The dress was so unlike anything she had seen anyone ever wear at home. Just like her hairdo, it screamed _Capitol._

She would be a stranger, an outcast.

People would point, thinking they knew all about her, keeping curious children away from the glorified murderer that lived in the big house on the edge of the Web.

The seventeen year old found that she did care. And it hurt.

"We're here!" Flowerpot Journalist eventually exclaimed, clapping her hands in delight.

Aster rolled his eyes, offering Mercury a hand that she didn't need but grasped gladly to pull herself up. The blue-eyed victor let out a shaky breath. The whole city was there; there to witness another round of lies.

Despite the tightness in her chest, a smile bloomed on her lips. Finder was standing between Grace and Mr. Matrix, the orphanage director. Relief made colors brighter and her sorrows fade away as her eyes hungrily latched onto her best friend's solemn face. He was alive. He was well.

She would never be simply Fiddle again, but she was home.

A dozen Capitolites descended from the train like viruses hungry for confidential data, thrusting their microphones like spears towards the crowd's throats. Their targets were not random, and also gave Mercury a very good indication of who Snow thought she was close to. Her jaw tightened and her fingers curled protectively around her silver watch as she saw the elderly Daemon Gedit physically surrounded by those brightly clad parasites.

Mercury's expression softened unbidden as her shoes hit the ground. Dirt and dust, nonexistent in the Capitol, and finally the air had the right taste to it.

"You told Mercury you knew she was a fighter before giving her the token. Were you aware that she had what it took to break a Career's neck? Did you already suspect that she would poison her last true ally and stop at nothing to win?"

Sheer disbelief made Mercury freeze then slowly turn towards Daemon's interviewer. She briefly met Fractale Boolea's shocked gaze but was too dismayed to feel any delight upon seeing that her two main employers had finally met.

She swallowed painfully, pushing unwanted memories at the back of her mind. She was supposed to tolerate the Capitol bullying every person who'd had the misfortune of being fond of her?

"She was always good at finding solutions where I saw none." Daemon spluttered, evidently at a loss.

Mercury eyes narrowed as bitter realization ripped through her body like acid-coated knives. He'd never expected her to come back. None of them had.

"You'd rather he'd have answered 'yes'?" Aster said in low tones.

The orphan flashed him a dark look. His sarcasm was _not_ welcome this time.

"Daemon said _survivor_, not fighter." She replied, grinding her teeth.

Aster shut his eyes briefly, as if in pain himself, before brushing her hand in support.

"You didn't come to say goodbye to Mercury," Flowerpot told Finder a few meters away, "were you afraid she'd suspect that you didn't have faith in her?"

A laugh escaped Mercury's throat, causing her best friend to grin at the journalist. The Capitol woman was a cripple here, oblivious to invisible forces that ruled all interactions in Three. In the technology district, the unsaid was often as meaningful as what was broadcasted, for cyphers and codes escaped their oppressors' notice. Best friends didn't avoid goodbyes because of justified distress; they stayed in the shadows long enough to destroy any evidence of disobedience or disloyalty in case the Capitol came sniffing for blackmail.

"You have it wrong, Ma'am. Had I gone to the Justice Building, I'd have missed the best bites of the post-reaping feast. I knew she'd not be long anyway."

"He's as good a liar as you are." Aster crisply commented, a sudden stiffness in his posture.

Mercury repressed a snort. His possessiveness was flattering but also absurd. "I'd already have nailed him had I been interested, do relax."

She bit her lip, afraid her voice would carry. Stress was making her mordant, and upsetting Aster would be the least of her worries. She couldn't slip now.

"You weren't there either, Mrs. Schrödinger." The journalist pointed out, turning to Grace.

The middle-aged teacher's face seemed to have been painfully wrought into a polite mask. Her skin looked like it could rip at any moment. Mercury still couldn't believe the woman had given an interview for her during the Games and what's more refrained from assaulting the journalist.

"I was desperately looking for my cat. Haven't found it; still don't know whether the poor creature is dead or alive." She said in stilted tones. "Sorry, Mercury." She added with a small smile.

Stifled giggles could be heard in the crowd. The dry quantum physics joke melted some of the tension as people reveled in their intellectual advantage over the oblivious Capitolites.

Mercury smiled back at her, aware the woman had one adult unmarried boy, so no obligation, and therefore no reason, to attend the reapings. "Your cat is rather unique, Grace. You couldn't have known that I'd be reaped."

The muted laughter rippled through the crowd again and for one shining moment, she didn't feel like a Capitol-tainted outcast anymore but like a full citizen of District Three, subtle in their dissent but just as passionate about freedom as the outspoken rebels that crowded Eleven's work camps.

Her heart stopped as she saw a third journalist single out a young girl with a rainbow beret in the crowd.

_A rainbow beret.  
_

The loud ambient chatter became meaningless noise to her ears as the detail captured her full attention.

Conversations with Algor resurfaced in her mind, conversations about what gave life meaning but mostly about his family and his sister, Optima. Blistering fury seared up Mercury's arms, forcing her to clench her fists and lower her eyes away from the cameras lest she commit the unforgivable.

"How do you feel that Mercury took the time in the Cornucopia to retrieve your brother's token? They were just strangers before the reaping, no?"

Something in Mercury snapped. If that journalist had paid attention to such details as a token's whereabouts and knew their significance, then he knew exactly what he was saying.

"Get away from that girl." She hissed, possessed by a hate she wouldn't have believed herself capable of feeling.

"Excuse me?" the man squawked. His indignation was replaced by pallor when he saw the ire in the victor's eyes.

A second, it would take a mere second to snap his neck.

"I think Algor would've done the same for her."

Optima's trembling voice had the effect of a bucket of ice water; the child's brown eyes were shining with tears. Mercury realized Aster's hand was digging into her shoulder. She forced herself to step away from the Capitolite, to wall her feelings off.

"She's ten, let her be." Mercury said, struggling to keep herself composed.

"I thought that she was really brave walking among those ghastly green holograms amidst cadavers." A boyish voice piped up.

Only one kid she knew spoke like that, with his voice emulating seasoned conference lecturers. _Good timing, Gimmick._

The twelve year old orphan's distraction seemed to satisfy the journalist who turned his full attention on him.

After a handful more utterly inappropriate inquiries, the journalists went back in the train, leaving her next to Finder among a scattering crowd.

A hand pulled on her sleeve.

"We want to talk to you, but Finder said he'd murder us if we upset you, so please come and see us as soon as you are able to." Gimmick said, shooting Finder a fearful look before running away again.

Mercury smiled, relishing in the feeling of being looked after. She was reminded of why she, a girl with many good acquaintances but precious few friends, loved Finder so dearly.

"They won't die if they wait a few days. You punching that creep would've been epic." Finder said, wrapping an arm around her back.

"Her resulting gaudy burial would doubtless have been the envy of all Panem." Aster dryly commented. "Although your display of temper will have won you sympathy points since you've proven to have retained a modicum of humanity."

Grace coughed, surprised by the harshness of his words. Mercury shook her head slightly, knowing none of them would understand how desperately she latched to Aster's biting appreciation of reality, because, no matter how bleak, it was truthful. Denial and chemical escapes sang sweet promises of comfort but it was Aster's silken voice that kept her strong and real. Reality was ugly and therefore so was his words, but she could never hate the messenger for making sure she didn't get lost in a world of nightmares and regrets.

"I think I get why Mercury never introduced us." Finder said after a pause, pursing his lips. He looked more thoughtful than hostile. "But don't think I didn't see how gleeful you looked when she made that guy cower."

Aster cocked an eyebrow at the fifteen year old, a scornful light entering his eyes as he towered over the orphan.

Mercury caught Grace's eye and smirked as the woman pointed at Aster and lifted two fingers.

_Two to one odds for Aster? _Too easy, Finder had unfair ammunition.

"I wouldn't play the adult card, Mercury's just a couple years older than me." Finder said with an impish smile, wagging his eyebrows suggestively.

_Like that._

The twenty-nine year old victor's jaw tensed.

Mercury rolled her eyes. "Can we skip to the part where you tolerate each other? Aster can be a tactless jerk and has a penchant for abrasive sarcasm. Finder is inversely an optimist with a lovely, sociable personality. I would never have dated the person you were at seventeen or even twenty-four, when we met, Aster. That guy had potential but was atrociously screwed up. I don't want you any younger."

She turned to her best friend, unable to conceal the desperate ring to her words. "Yes, Finder, we've kissed. Yes, me being a victor will affect how you and I can interact and not in a good way. Can…"

"Shut up,"Finder gently said, putting a finger on her lips. "I can be quite thick skinned if my reacting bothers you. I'm not hugging the life out of you right now because we're in public."

Mercury sighed, her face dissolving into a smile. "It's awesome to be back. You have no idea."

"Fiddle…."

The blue-eyed girl turned to the orphanage director. Something in his expression caused her smile to wane.

"What happened?" she said, not daring to breathe.

"The West Wing of the orphanage was flooded two days ago. The water infiltrated everywhere. What wasn't flooded was burnt; many studios collapsed. Nothing was salvageable from your room."

She blinked, suddenly numb.

All her things? Thousands of hours' worth of experiments, hundreds of carefully compiled data files on ancient history. Her family's pictures, her mother's beautiful drawings, her father's old books….

_Everything_?

Snow. Snow had killed Fiddle.

"Your room isn't far from mine." She finally whispered, relaxing her bruising grip on Finder's arm.

Finder shrugged. "It was mostly junk; you can buy me a new one now."

He was just as brave as she remembered him but his hooded eyes betrayed there was more to the story. Dread twisted her chest.

She forced the words out of her mouth. "Who died?"

"Ten studios were damaged beyond repair but everyone ran out before the electrical fires got out of control…."

"Jack can't run." A deathly pale Mercury interrupted, rising guilt threatening to suffocate her.

"He was the only casualty." Mr. Matrix said, his expression dark.

A choked scream escaped Mercury's mouth, she felt Finder push her gently into Aster's arms.

"Crush's embrace gives a greater illusion of safety than younger best friend." The boy said with forced confidence.

Had the girl not been so horrified, she would've laughed.

"Jack would never have lived to adult age. His disability made him dependent on other's care, the orphanage could not have sustained him past his twenty-first year. Without a job or caretakers, he would never have gone far." Matrix said hollowly, as if he'd learned the words by heart.

"He was _nine_." Mercury snapped, angrily wiping tears off her cheeks. She hadn't wanted to find excuses for the deaths she had caused in the Games and wasn't about to start now.

Nine, witty and kind. And less of a moron than a fair few people she had met during the previous month.

"Did you get any donations after my interviews?" The victor said, a heavy dose of sarcasm in her voice.

Matrix's face twitched oddly. "Enough to rebuild the entire wing and then some. You must've spoken well, although I gather victors have always been popular."

"Yeah, I'm famous now, my life's ambition!"

She was all the more angry that Matrix would never have tolerated such insolence from her in another context. Either he was making allowances or he was afraid, and from the distance he kept between the two of them, she suspected she had been blacklisted by the man's survival instincts. If that was the reaction of a man who had known her for almost a decade, she dreaded her how strangers would see her.

Grace wiped a tear Mercury hadn't caught with her wrinkled thumb. "I have scheduled private lessons with you starting next week. You have some catching up to do and I suppose you might have a schedule to accommodate. I will make the other five work with you again within the month unless you feel strongly against it."

Mercury's heart fluttered in relief, a grateful smile drawing itself on her lips. "Thank you, Grace."

Matrix frowned. "As a victor, she doesn't need…."

"To study in order to learn?" Grace archly said. "I doubt four years of knowledge will waltz into her brain during the night just because she has a fancy house."

Mercury sniffed, her arms spontaneously flying around the older woman. Overwhelming gratitude caused her eyes to overflow once more. She didn't think she could survive leaving everything of her old life behind.

"Get off her; she looks like she's about to have a stroke." Aster said after a few seconds, helpless amusement lacing his voice.

"Dude, tact." Finder huffed, earning himself a withering glare.

Grace looked indeed at a loss, and suspiciously misty-eyed, when Mercury reluctantly pulled back.

Mercury vowed to hug the woman more often. There was no way such a great person could be so extraneous to touch, long years of widowhood aside.

"I want to keep studying." She begged, her lips trembling.

She pulled herself together, turning to her official guardian. "Is there anything else, Sir? I will see what I can do for the orphanage."

Matrix didn't seem to be able to hold her gaze. "Of course, come by whenever you want."

* * *

The house was superb, equipped with state-of-the art technology and fitted with furniture that actually respected Three's definition of aesthetics. Mercury couldn't imagine ever getting used to the space. She was on the verge of asking Aster where she could buy plants to fill it up.

"I'll tactfully go to my own house now. It will certainly occupy me for a couple of hours." Aster informed them, leaving without further ado.

Finder frowned quizzically at Mercury's small smile. "You really find his attitude attractive? Note that I'm not pointing out how you almost swoon every time he speaks in that smooth voice of his."

Mercury punched him half-heartedly. "He's intense. He's intelligent and never boring and he understands much without words. I never minded the sarcasm, it's actually entertaining."

"Basically, like any girl in love, you can't explain it." Finder summed up with a roguish smile. His smile fell. "How are you and can I still be your best friend?"

Mercury froze, her tenuous hopes for a light conversation evaporating. She sighed, too drained from her earlier emotional roller-coaster to feel more than bitter resignation.

"Walk with me around the house, outside." She muttered, shutting the front door. "You can bet there are more bugs in the walls than holes in a P-type semi-conductor."

Finder didn't blink."The flood was no accident."

Hardly surprised by the affirmation, Mercury searched Finder's face for any hint of accusation. Her burning eyes fell to the ground as she found none. "I behaved. I don't know what they'll do if I don't. I only know they won't target me directly."

"I don't care." The boy promptly replied, slinging an arm around her shoulders.

_Well, she certainly did._

Mercury shook her head, shooting him a dark glare. "Imagine our positions were reversed for a second. Besides, they're smart, they might kill Jenny."

Finder paled at the mention of his girlfriend. His mouth opened a few times before a coherent sound could exit. His voice was suspiciously high pitched. "They don't want you undermining the Capitol or they want you miserable, independently of how well you behave?"

"I don't know, Finder." She whispered brokenly, letting herself lean on him. "I really don't."

The boy tightened his hold on her shoulders. "Can Aster alone make you happy?"

The victor's haunted eyes met her friend's caring ones and found surprising maturity. She knew she could not truthfully answer that question. Once more her decisions would influence someone's lifespan, but she couldn't bring herself to manipulate Finder, not when lies polluted so much of her life.

"I don't want to give you up, but the mystique of victors as glorified super-humans must be maintained. The damage the Games have wreaked on us must remain an open secret. You cannot be part of that, but you can be part of what happens outside of victor's village."

It was an agonizing compromise to make. She was asking him to witness her suffering and never ask, to see her change and never truly understand, to let them grow apart and not fight it. She was demanding that he never complain about this twisted predicament to any other person lest he incur Capitol ire. She was not his only friend; Finder was not as exclusive as she was, but she remained his closest friend, and now she was asking him to walk away.

They had sat down on the short grass, Finder's eyes lost in the horizon, tears beginning to pearl on his long eyelashes. "I watched those Games, Fiddle." He finally said, his voice raw with emotion. "It killed me, but I did, every minute that my body would let me watch. I'm not as analytical as you. I never was able to watch those old Games without seeing the people and this time, it was _you _in that hell. Except the commentators called that girl Mercury, so what do you call yourself now?

The dark-haired orphan lowered her eyes; feelings of loss too long suppressed welling up inside her. "I haven't been Fiddle since my name was drawn."

"If you can survive killing your identity, or at least part of it, I can survive being good friends with Mercury. I'll be there, even if I don't get it all right at first."

Mercury kissed his cheek, hoping her expression could convey what words could not.

Finder unexpectedly grasped her chin, his eyes staring into hers. "Would you rather have died," he whispered, a frightening vehemence to his tone.

"Finder, look down." Mercury replied stiffly, her sense screaming danger.

The boy let his arm drop as he noticed how close the other's hand was to his neck. The intensity of his stare did not lessen.

"Newly ingrained reflexes; don't do that again." The victor warned, emotion choking her voice. "And no, I'm terrified of death. I'd not have survived the Games otherwise."

Finder nodded briskly, unable to mistake the truth in her words. "I just needed to know that." He stammered, now almost ashamed at his outburst.

Mercury's heart wrenched at seeing him so out of his depth. It wasn't meant to be like that. His greatest fear was supposed to be being caught hacking into confidential files, not to wake up one day to learn she had walked into a high voltage fence.

"I won't ever lie to you, Finder. If I have to draw a line at a subject, I will make it clear." She promised, desperately wishing nothing would ever come into the way of that pledge.

The boy hugged her tightly, unable to disguise how distressingly inept he felt despite his brave facade.

"Can you tell me how you did it?"

Mercury withered under his gaze, feeling abject. Finder had to know who she had become, but a part of Mercury wished that he would hate that girl. That girl was messed up and would sap the affection he so carelessly offered her. She would watch him hurt for her sake and wondered if letting him help her was not unforgivably selfish on her part.

"Survival changes the rules. It made terrible sense then. It was easy, physically, and then it was over, so I couldn't take it back. I played the Games, some didn't and died, and others did too, and they died as less than they had been. Some had found a balance: some Careers, Mesmer, Yolo, but they still died."

Finder grasped her by her shoulders. "You aren't less than you had been. I couldn't believe it when you killed that ginger from Eight. It was rational and insane and I could never have done it. But it didn't change you, Fiddle! I was shouting my head off at the screen when you didn't kill Yolo and made the Gamemakers pull that twisted booby-trapped final race out of their mighty asses. You were stubborn until the end; you'd have killed him quickly and won had you played by their rules, but instead you gave them the finger. You've been giving them the finger every time you could as long as it didn't kill you. I bet you sure earned that flood, and I'm damn proud you did! It's not _you_ I'm angry at for it."

Mercury felt conflicting emotions soar in her at his passionate words.

She hadn't killed Yolo because she'd wanted the Gamemakers to do it for her. She had done everything not to be sold again. She had used her interviews to get the orphanage money. Snow knew perfectly well that her every word was crafted to manipulate the Capitolites she addressed.

She was a murderer and a liar who hid herself behind pathetic attempts at redeeming her soul.

She had gotten Jack killed and deprived over a dozen orphans of the few material possessions they had the chance to cherish in her attempts not to give in to the Capitol.

She was much too selfish to correct Finder's opinion of her.

She had promised not to lie.

She let out a shaky breath. "I do admire myself for staying afloat, although I'm not sure it's justified, but I hate what I had to do and the mask I now have to wear. I hope I'll come to think like you one day."

"Do you think Aster's a monster?" Finder said with a knowing look.

Mercury's lips twitched. Her best friend knew full well that she didn't. It would be nevertheless too beautiful if logic determined one's self-esteem and decreed that she could forgive herself as she had forgiven Aster. She snuggled against Finder's chest, letting his regular heartbeat soothe her.

"Grace's interview was hysterical, how did you manage it? She must hate you."

"You wanted me to stay invisible to the Capitol, no? I tried." Finder said, a bitter twist to his lips. "She didn't know until it was too late for her to desist. She's okay with me since you did win." He added with more cheer.

"You did well. Snow is much more inquisitive than Zephyr, if peacekeepers asked questions…."

"They did." Finder confirmed, ripping blades of grass out of the moist ground.

They lapsed into a comfortable silence, enjoying the sight of the swirling sun-kissed clouds capturing the colors of the autumn sunset.

"Can you still sing?" he said after a while, his eyes riveted on the wolf tattoo branded on her left arm.

Surprisingly, lying on the grass in her best friends' arms, Mercury found that she could.

Aster was back half an hour later with a pile of documents.

"Singing Tesla coils." The man pointedly reminded her.

"Tesla coils? What's that, a Capitol command? Tonight? Can't you take her out to dinner somewhere nice instead? She just got back!" Finder said, staring quizzically at the older victor.

Aster sighed softly, his exhaustion apparent. "I respect your affection for Mercury, and I trust you know her well, but it is better she end the day in private and focused on intellectual challenges. I need a restful night before dealing with her emotions."

_Oh, Aster, you have the kindest way of formulating things._

Finder crossed his arms, a stubborn cast to his jaw. "Send her to Beetee and Wiress then."

Mercury giggled, more out of nerves than mirth. "Aster and I still need to talk about us."

She smiled helplessly at the now blushing victor. "I don't mind giving you a break until tomorrow. Let's see which components we need to build the thing and plan it out."

As far as Mercury was concerned, they didn't really need to have that discussion. But Aster was emotionally obtuse and she did want to hear him say that he had feelings for her.

"Do you want me to stay to make sure the tension between the two of you doesn't lead to something premature?" Finder volunteered.

Mercury laughed, her eyes soon misting up with tears. She swallowed, pulling herself together.

"I'll kick you out if you become a bother." She promised.

Aster stiffly handed her the plans. Mercury knew him well enough to tell that he was mortified. She bit back another giggle.

* * *

**AN: Google 'singing Tesla coil' and look on youtube if you don't know what I'm talking about. In short, it's a big cage with lightning in it that can 'sing tunes'. Mercury has not yet chosen her talent's exact name, but it's obviously something derived from electronics.**

**If you didn't get the Schrödinger's cat joke, well, I strongly suggest you acquaint yourself with the awesome insanity of quantum physics.^^ Google is your friend.  
**


	47. PG10: Ambiguities dispelled

_The door handle was too high._

_The dark-haired little girl huffed in frustration. She wanted to play in her games room but couldn't get in._

"_Mum!" she called, pushing herself on tiptoes yet still only brushing the wooden handle with her fingertips._

_A woman's hand grasped the handle, but kept the door almost fully closed._

"_You're not old enough to go there, Sparkle." The girl's mother said, a questioning ring to her gentle voice._

_Child-Mercury frowned. Too young for her games room? That was silly._

"_Of course I am!"_

_She pushed the gray door open and stepped into the unlit room._

_Her foot hit something hard._

_She huffed again, annoyed at the prospect of having to clean up everything before she could play._

_She pressed on the light switch on the wall and frowned: the light was bad, dim and greenish. She'd have to tell her dad to fix it after work._

_She turned around and froze._

_Instead of her books and Legos, large dolls had been carelessly tossed in a mound taller than the girl. _

_She confusedly glanced back at the door, but the wall she had almost been touching was a whole two meters behind her. _

_She tried to move but her muscles were locked in place._

_There was something wrong with the dolls, they looked in pain. Mutilated and grimacing, all their dead beady eyes seemed riveted on the petrified child._

_One of the pasty arms twitched._

_Neon green light flooded from the twitching doll's round eyes, its glare slowly rousing the other disfigured puppets._

"_Mummy?" the girl pleaded, her voice shivering with terror._

"_You said you could handle the Games, Mercury. I can't follow you in."_

_The Games? No! She'd just wanted to go play with her toys. That wasn't supposed to happen._

_Her mother couldn't leave. "Mum, please!"_

_Child-Mercury was alone._

_The dolls were much less numerous now, struggling to stand, bloody wounds soaking their limbs. The green light cast disquieting shadows, making it hard to see. But it wasn't coming from the eyes anymore. _

_Rosemary was sitting cross-legged on the other side of the room, looking upset._

"_I can't cure no-one if I don't have the right plants." The auburn-haired healer said._

_Mercury's eyes fell to the other's hands. _

_They were full of black berries. The nightlock was bubbling, producing dark ooze that stained Rose's emerald dress and splattered over the healer's limp patient._

_Mercury opened her mouth, desperately wanting Rose to stand before the poisonous ooze rose higher. _

_That's when she saw it, the stained ruby lips, the lock of ginger hair. _

_Georgie._

_She couldn't move, she couldn't scream._

"_I can't run, help me?" Jack said, struggling with his wheelchair as the ooze snaked up his atrophied legs._

"_Why aren't you helping me!" the nine-year old orphan wailed, struggling to push the nightlock away. His eyes burned accusingly into Mercury's._

_It wasn't fair! She wanted to help him, why couldn't she move?_

_Rosemary was watching them quizzically._

_The green-eyed doll winked, jumping like a monkey on top of the others, pushing them in the steadily rising muck. Its stitched fabric was now dark as night._

_The other puppets had lost their anonymity; their desperate screams scorched Mercury's ears._

_The girl tried to speak, to beg for silence._

_A golden knife appeared in Mesmer's hand as he cackled over the din._

_Their eyes met. She shot him._

"_Do you even think before killing people?" Rosemary chastised sternly._

_Mercury watched in horror as Aster's dead form was slowly swallowed by the black ooze._

_No! That had been Mesmer. Mesmer!_

_She screamed._

_The thick nightlock juice infiltrated her nose and mouth. She was blind; she couldn't breathe._

Mercury's eyes flew open. She violently pushed the tangle of soaked sheets off her shivering body.

"Seriously, Mum, why did you open the damn door?" She said, if only to hear the sound of her voice and tighten her hold on reality.

_Just a nightmare. Just a stupid dream. Not real._

The sun hadn't risen yet.

Mercury reached for the switch and put her hands on her hammering heart as white light inundated the room.

She drank deeply from the water bottle next to her bed before throwing on a clean shift and heading for the elegant desk under the window. She opened the shutters and slowly began to write in her dream-book, finding the nightmare all too easy to recall and tragically simple to interpret. Seeder had better be right about it helping.

Aster found her in the living-room, curled up on one of the sofas with a blanket, watching her third day in the arena.

She grinned despite his horrified expression and turned the screen off.

"I'm so glad you're fine; I killed you in my dream. I swear it was an accident." Despite the light tone, her hands were still shaking lightly.

"And I thought the amount of mischief you could manage before half past eight was limited…. I have _never_ heard of another victor replaying their own Games. Why are you torturing yourself?" Aster said, his consternation apparent.

Mercury gave him a lopsided smile, unreasonably happy to see him care. "It's for accuracy's sake. I have nightmares about people I barely knew; I'd rather have nightmares about people I knew a bit more about. It warrants a memory of the full live version of events."

The young woman stretched, pushing the cover off the sofa. "I can't believe I looked so calm on camera."

Aster shot her shift a critical look while folding the blanket.

"Get into real clothes. We're walking to the university to retrieve the components you need and buy new clothes."

Mercury blinked. It was a three hours walk at the very least, so ample time for them to talk, but the mere idea of leaving the house made her nauseous. Wiress had lent her enough clothes for days, even more since the victor could wash them.

Aster put a hand on her shoulder, understanding clouding his dark eyes. "If you wait until you feel disposed to go in the Web, you will cozen Grace Schrödinger into giving you lessons here and hide until the next Games force you out. You must not ostracize yourself more than you are now condemned to be. It will take discipline but you will be freer."

"And you're saying that you are more stubborn than I am if I refuse?" Mercury said in resigned tones, her entire body tense at the mere thought of encountering people. One look, one emotion shared with a stranger and Snow could kill them to assert his power. One look and she would see what she had become reflected in their eyes.

The Web had been her home, her territory. She knew it by heart and had never felt threatened. She didn't want those memories tainted. She didn't want her city to reject her and become hostile. She had been invisible, one among many. Now she would be judged at her every step.

"Undeniably." His voice softened into a silken promise. "I know the paths which are not traveled."

Mercury nodded, her eyes downcast. She went back to her room and changed, wondering how the first victors had done it, unable to lean on anything except the loving but ignorant support of friends and family.

She was shaking her head ruefully as she sat back next to a waiting Aster who handed her a pair of sensible walking shoes.

"Thanks." She absently said. "How in heaven did you stand me in the beginning? I really had no clue."

Aster smiled. "You didn't pretend to know either. You just tried to figure me out, rather tactfully for a child, and wanted to use my lab. You didn't fit with what I had come to expect of existence and you looked unnervingly happy to be there." His smile turned sour. "Even my mother is pained when she visits, despite her instinct-driven fondness of me."

Mercury snorted at the formulation, letting him lead her out of the door. He was almost dragging her but she didn't protest, forcing herself to pay attention to the conversation and not the surroundings. She wondered when Aster's mother would visit again, now curious about the woman.

"Why are you so surprised when someone likes you?" She huffed.

"I am just as astonished when I find myself enjoying another person's company." Aster replied, aware he was avoiding the question.

They both tangibly relaxed when they were out of the Capitol's listening devices' range.

"Where were you the day Snow summoned me?" Mercury began.

Aster's eyes flashed with fury. "With our new President, who else could have kept me away from you? Certainly not a whim…. He made it clear we were not to interact again until he sent me to summon you."

Mercury squeezed his arm, wondering if Snow's words had somehow instigated their first kiss.

"What did he want?"

The man's words were a long venomous hiss. "To boast about his all-knowingness and wickedness, to inform me that our attempts at concealing our interaction prior to the reapings were highly entertaining, to establish his superiority…. He is the kind of man I wish I had met in the arena."

"He reminded you of all you had to lose while simultaneously predicting you would be forever miserable." Mercury finished in low tones.

"I believe we met the same person."

The young woman shuddered. "Two of them would be a sure sign of impeding apocalypse."

A dark chuckle escaped Aster's throat. He turned his piercing gaze on Mercury.

"What happened that night with Dante?"

Mercury grinned, a blush blooming on her cheeks. "He gave me a pill to breach my hymen then made me swap the awful clothes I was wearing for a one-piece decent swimsuit. His was fluffy, Aster. Flashy purple and _fluffy_! We talked about the Games and the Dark Days; he was nineteen when they started. Then he made me discover chocolate."

Her amusement faded as she omitted the part about making Dante overcome his embarrassment and tell her how to deter Odysseus Glitterati from advertising her bedchamber skills. A familiar creeping feeling of disgust tingled on down her legs.

"In the fancy swimsuit?"

Mercury elbowed him, her lips nevertheless quirking as his teasing tone pulled her back to the present. "In a fancy indoor robe."

"So how much of a coward is the old man?"

Mercury shot the older victor a reproachful look before pondering his question. She had been immeasurably grateful to Dante, but it did not erase the implications of the escort's words.

"He does not believe that the Capitol could ever lose. He does not want to consider it because if the Capitol loses, he gains nothing except the knowledge the world is a fairer place. His family and acquaintances would be on the losing side. His life would be ashes."

"So he's a kind coward with reasons."

"He's lucky; where he lives that puts him in the top percentile of respectable human beings."

Aster granted her point with a half-smile.

Mercury repressed a sigh; her head was pounding and had failed her to provide her with an elegant way of introducing the issue that plagued her waking hours.

"Aster, why do you think I kissed you?"

The man blinked owlishly, stopping in his tracks. He stiffened, as if suddenly wary and stepped away from Mercury.

"Why phrase it such?" he said, as if treading on thin ice.

"Because I suspect your answer won't be 'because the romantic feelings you've been harboring for me since you were fifteen have bloomed into something serious during the last month.' "

Not the most romantic way of declaring her love, but Mercury knew Aster well enough to predict that she was going to be tearing her hair out before the end of the conversation.

The twenty-nine year old stared at her with such a mystified expression that Mercury almost feared he would faint. The sheer disbelief that flashed in his eyes tore at her like a physical wound. It wasn't even that he had little faith in the flight of fancies of teenagers, which would've been insulting but somewhat forgivable, no. He just couldn't fathom why she loved him.

She patiently waited for him to recover the ability of coherent speech.

"Human beings crave happiness. I am the only person you could turn to after the trauma you suffered. Romantic feelings are a great vector of happiness, it is natural you would react as you did."

Mercury refrained from rolling her eyes. She almost wished Finder was here to drop a _'Dude, self-confidence.'_

"And do I quench your instinctive primal thirst for happiness?" She asked with a patient smile. "Did you kiss me because your own instincts drove you towards the only available female victor in Three?"

Aster lowered his eyes, an uncommon harshness to his features. "I will exhaust what happiness you have to give. I cannot build anything bright."

_Did he realize what edge he'd just given her by his unspoken admission?_

"Have I ever of recent asked you to change? You _can_ smile, you can even laugh and I just wish to play those chords. If you assume my judgment has been warped by my emotional vulnerability, then logic dictates I should be avoiding conflict. I am not. I have already your friendship and it is safer than what I want now."

Mercury's voice dropped to a heated whisper. "Trust me, my subconscious is not pushing into your arms because you are an available male; the Capitol's auction system has seen to that."

Aster's eyes flashed at the reminder of her night with Odysseus. He brushed her cheek, a tempest of warring emotions destroying the last vestiges of his schooled expression.

"You crave meaning and my happiness may be the greatest challenge of them all. Now it gives you strength but soon it will become a crutch."

The young woman before him shook her head. She grasped the man's hand tightly in hers, gentle sarcasm and ardent yearning begging to be acknowledged pervading her words. "You can't make anyone happy, so that must make me flawed because even you can't have failed to notice that for the last years I light up in your presence. Call it a genetic defect if you must, Aster, but you honestly believe that pushing me away and have us both miserable forever is better than a fulfilling relationship because the latter may fail?"

"It does sound asinine." Aster granted, but his haunted eyes were still far away.

Mercury slowly began to play with her dark hair, catching the man's attention. Her heart began to race at his intense gaze fell on her. She forced herself to ignore the magnetic distraction choose her words with care. "You painstakingly rebuilt yourself after your victory. You crafted an armor from the shards the Games had left, sure of four things: your indomitable will was your life-force, you intelligence your pride, your words your weapon, and your self-loathing your certainty. You are as destructive to me as much as my hair is objectively tainted. Do you _need_ to be miserable more than you want to be with me?"

It wasn't about her anymore; it was neither about the solidity of their feelings nor the compatibility of their characters. It was about what defined a victor who had spent almost fourteen years fleeing human contact and wishing his emotions away. It was about surrendering control.

Now mere inches away from her, Aster's dark eyes were caressing her face with the scorching intensity of a starving flame. They both stood unmoving, not touching yet utterly enthralled by the other. Mercury couldn't breathe, unable to withstand the excruciating tension. She wanted him to make the choice but feared her mind would fizzle and her heart explode if he were to draw out this torture any longer. Her mind was blank, her body silently begging for release.

_Kill me_, her half-closed eyes begged.

An awed and triumphant smile drew itself on the man's lips. Aster's lips captured hers with surprising fierceness, putting an end to her exquisite agony. His arm snaked around her waist as her knees betrayed her, holding her upright. Mercury was long past the stage she could coherently form her feelings into words and surrendered, simply aware that this was _right_.

* * *

For the life of her, Mercury couldn't remember what clothes she had bought or what the salespersons had looked like. She had gone to the university to put in the order for the Tesla coil components but the stock manager's words had failed to pierce through her euphoria.

In a daze, her hand not leaving Aster's arm, she was distantly aware that her smile was indecent for a recently crowned victor and that she had forgotten to remove blades of grass from between two of her toes before slipping her feet back in her shoes.

* * *

**AN: This was exclusively Mercury/Aster, but I had to get it out of my system. All this tension was distracting xD. More characters in the next chapter, I just thought it wouldn't have been believable to have Mercury running around and talking to everyone during her second day back. **

**The nightmare was my very first attempt at writing something bordering on horror. I would really like to know your thoughts.**


	48. PG11: The power a victor has

Mercury's eyes fell on the paper on her kitchen table and laughed.

The timetable Aster had drawn was meticulous to the point absurdity. He'd labeled every minute of her time, with activities ranging from mundane 'exercising' to the ironically phrased 'nightmare management' and 'therapeutic socialization' and 'engineering for the overlords'.

"You aren't really going to hold me to that, are you?" Mercury said, a little nervous despite her bright smile.

"No," Aster admitted with a small smirk.

Mercury's smile broadened, touched by his effort at making her laugh.

"You don't make a sound at night." The man said after a pause.

He blushed slightly as Mercury's eyebrows shot up. "I agreed we shouldn't sleep together because we both have awful sleeping patterns and it's a little premature, but watching me sleep?"

The young woman shook her head, laughter erasing lines from her face and making her almost look her age. "That's actually sweet, Aster."

"You didn't dream?"

Mercury's smile grew wry. "My tattoo morphed into a real mutt and tried to eat me. It would seem my subconscious gave up subtlety for a night. 'Well' is excessive but I did sleep fitfully for once." Her voice dropped to a flirtatious whisper. "I think I was too emotionally drained not to."

Aster broke into a genuine smile. His eyes seemed to caress her face as if his mind could immortalize the moment and protect it from the ravages of time.

"Finder will be here any moment," he finally said, his silken voice surprisingly soft.

"That's the only reason I haven't pushed you on the couch and colonized your lap." Mercury replied with a wink, inwardly debating whether Finder would truly mind. Aster had no clue how achingly sexy he was when his lips twitched in a proud smirk.

A knock on the door put an end to her fantasizing.

Finder stifled a grin as he took in Mercury's dreamy expression. "Should I take a twenty minutes' walk and come back? You two look like forty-eight hours weren't enough to wrap up that too-long delayed _conversation_."

"The best conversations never end," Mercury replied smoothly, skipping up to him and planting a kiss on his cheek.

The younger orphan eyed Aster appraisingly. "She's skipping. You have my respect, Mr. Polaris."

"I'm thrilled," Aster said curtly, nevertheless unable to hide the mischievous glint in his dark eyes. "Bring her back before dinner."

"Aye aye!" Finder said, saluting with his hand.

He elbowed Mercury as soon as they were outside. "You two are so sweet! Aster didn't even manage to be properly snarky. Tell me you were wise enough not to spend all of the last two days _talking_."

"I think a little mystery is healthy here." Mercury said archly, her lips twitching as he continued to wag his eyebrows at her.

"I think you both urgently needed to get laid. The mental image I could do without, but I'm glad to see you in such good spirits."

"That kind of comment is the reason I've never considered dating guys my age." Mercury quipped, brushing Finder's wild hair out of his eyes, knowing it'd annoy him more than a well deserved swat.

Finder scrunched his face up, pushing her hand away. "Stop mothering me, Woman!"

Mercury chuckled, marveling at how easy things seemed to be when she was alone with him.

"Aster's not coming because he likes me or because he's got stuff to do," Finder asked, a more serious cast to his features.

"He trusts you with me and he needs space too. He's the guy who stiffened every time I touched him. And before you get glib, I was from lack of contact, not from sexual tension. I won't transform him into a teddy bear, nor do I wish to."

"Well if you need a hug from a well-adjusted bloke, I'm here." Finder said, his eyes serious despite his easy smile.

Mercury tightened her hold on his arm, affection softening her features. "I know."

"So, does he let you call him Sweetheart or are you more partial to Sugar?"

The victor choked on her saliva, causing Finder to erupt in gales of laughter. She could just imagine Aster's horrified stare if she was to employ such mushy monikers. And seriously, _Sugar? Aster?  
_

Alone with her best friend, Mercury could pretend her life hadn't changed so much. He teased her mercilessly about Aster and shamelessly offered utterly inappropriate insight on male psychology 'for her own good', before launching into a detailed and enthusiastic update on orphanage gossip.

The illusion soundlessly shattered as Mr. Matrix's wary gaze greeted her. The orphanage director had always been careful to keep some distance between him and the attention-starved orphans, but he'd interacted with them enough that he became the closest thing they all had to a surrogate father figure.

That father figure was afraid of her. Even away from the Capitol journalists, on his turf and with days to school his expression, the smartly-dressed orphanage director was outwardly afraid of her.

Mercury drew a sharp breath; not bothering for once to hide how much his reaction pained her.

"Mr. Matrix, thank you for making the time."

"Don't humor me, you're the one with power here." He said, with surprising harshness.

"I'm the one with money." The girl corrected, taken aback.

"If you tell the Capitol you want something done, I will have to bow to you."

Mercury frowned at him, wondering if he'd once lost a relative to the Games or if he was truly afraid to lose his authority over orphanage business. "I'm neither qualified nor inclined to take control of the orphanage. Besides I'd have to deal with people all the time."

The man's lips twitched at the last, acknowledging her point. He sighed. "I also oversee the security of the building. The flood should never have happened. I'm angry, Fiddle. Don't take it personally. I'm glad you made it."

The victor dropped her gaze, her fists clenching into tight fists. A searing invisible knife twisted at her insides. She wondered how many other people did not believe in tragic coincidences. Her annoyance at Mr. Matrix swiftly evaporated, replaced by helpless fury. He wasn't truly afraid of who she was, he was afraid of what the Capitol might do to him because of her.

"Follow me, rebuilding a whole wing includes much more paperwork and chatter that you could ever imagine."

"Call me Mercury, please." The orphan simply said. Finder's hand grasped her shoulder tightly.

She cast a last glance over the printed figures and indulged herself a smug smile. "Mr. Matrix, we can do much better than rebuild. With this money, we can rebuild a better wing and renovate the other ones. Just take a group of the prettiest kids and rehearse for a flattering tour and interview for the Capitol. They feel awesome about all the good they did and you won't have problems. Just send me the script of what you'll all say beforehand to be safe. "

Matrix seemed to ponder her words before eying her shrewdly. "What did you two feel the lack of while growing up here?"

_Someone to tell them about life, someone to rely on when they screwed up, someone that told them and only them that they were special. Parents._

"Proper heating but especially air conditioning. A place to cook and better bathrooms." Mercury began.

"Pets." Finder said, with a wistful smile. "Having to give up Loki was horrible. We could work out something to deal with allergies and keep the inevitable mess to a minimum."

The victor blinked, suddenly ashamed to have focused on the material aspects. She remembered Finder's arrival, mere weeks after she had entered the orphanage. He'd wept and screamed for his dog for days. He hadn't been the only one distraught about losing their four-legged and only surviving family member.

The director bit his lip, looking torn. "Pets need to be taken care of. They would be a huge source of jealousy."

"We could make a deal with an animal seller, have him work somewhere in the new wing without paying fees. In exchange, anyone over twelve wanting a pet could apply for one. It could be a great socializing activity, to force people to interact. Jealousies can be dealt with." Finder insisted, a pleading note in his voice.

Mercury smothered a happy smile as she saw Mr. Matrix giving in. Getting grieving orphans to socialize properly was difficult at best. The orphans were considerate with bad-tempered and sullen newcomers for a while but often lost patience if the latter didn't lighten up. The director's and other adults' greatest challenge was to make sure that the children were functioning members of society by the time they left their care, and if Finder convinced Matrix that pets would help, the man would accept.

"We can invest a lot but the maintenance price needs to be low, we can't count on having this kind of budget forever."

Finder and Mercury shared a grin: a change of subject meant the fifteen years old would have a puppy named Loki soon enough.

* * *

"Hello, Fidd..Mercury, may I have an autograph?"

The victor turned disbelieving eyes towards the earnest looking young speaker.

"Seriously, Gimmick?" She said, unable to repress a wince.

"Finder is very evasive about you. You and I lived three rooms apart and you were my tutor for forty-two weeks. People arbitrarily decided that I had much to reveal about you." The curly-haired boy tilted his head, confusion evident on his face. "I don't understand why it would, but it's an odd feeling, being sought out by other people."

"Your intelligence had to colonize the sociability part of your brain, it wouldn't have fit otherwise." Mercury said, fondness lacing her words. She then arched an eyebrow. "You truly expect me to believe that you want my autograph to impress people?"

Gimmick blushed and awkwardly shuffled his feet. "I impress them; they're my age. It feels good."

"I might be part of the truth, but you're still a terrible liar." Mercury gently said, feeling a pang of compassion for the precocious child.

Gimmick scowled. He crossed his arms, his round cheeks burning. "My book drowned. I had tokens that I'd taken in all the rooms glued there. Nobody ever missed what I took, but it mattered to me. I have to start it all over again, but there is nothing of yours here, so I want you to give me something."

A helpless smile bloomed on the victor's lips. She had stopped counting the times she had caught Gimmick tinkering with someone's lock. "That's adorable, and I don't mean that in a condescending way," she quickly added as she saw the boy's diffident look. "I think you shouldn't boast about any autograph of mine. You don't want the word to get around that we're close; you've got five autumns before being safe."

The twelve year old turned huge amber eyes towards the victor, his lips suddenly trembling in fear. "But we're not even friends, I just…. I'm a moron, forget the autograph." He bit his lower lip thoughtfully. "Or give an autograph to those who used to live in your wing. Some people won't find it weird."

Mercury chuckled at his last comment. A foreign hand grasped her shoulder.

She had Luna pinned to the wall before the eighteen year-old could say a word.

The glamorous brunette, and unofficial princess of the orphanage, cleared her throat, panic apparent in her stunning violet eyes.

Mercury relaxed her grasp, shooting Luna a withering glance, confident the girl had touched her to suggest a non-existent closeness between them to boost her popularity. Nevertheless, despite her arrogance and love of power, Luna had gained her popularity through devotion and hard work and Mercury believed that she deserved _most_ of the attention she got. She just had trouble standing the other girl.

"I just wanted to ask, on behalf all of us here, how long we will have to wait for the new building." Luna said with forced politeness, gingerly rubbing her throat.

"Four months. In six everything will be finished." Mercury replied, noticing that over a dozen orphans were straining to overhear, yet seemed reluctant to close the last meters between them.

Was she really that intimidating? Her face darkened at the thought.

Luna sighed in aggravation. "We'll have murders before then. There's barely space for one in the rooms, let alone for two for _four months_! Even when we do like our roommate."

"The walls will be thicker, the bathrooms individual, the air conditioning functional and the network more high-speed. Don't get married for another three years and you'll fully appreciate it, Luna."

"Pity I don't have anything left to put in them."

Mercury stiffened, even if Luna was plainly complaining rather than accusing her.

"They'll also be pet friendly." She said with forced cheer.

That tore a smile out of the stubborn brunette. "That's actually worth my clothes and make-up."

Excited murmurs spread through the crowd like wildfire, anticipation apparent on many a child's face. The previously shy orphans started closing in, questions pouring from their mouths as they eagerly sought confirmation.

"Can I move in the new wing? I'll leave someone my room and bunk up with Pavo for the next four months!" A chiming voice called from the crowd.

"There will be rules. The whole building will be renovated before the end of next year." Matrix said, putting an abrupt end to the chatter.

A smile danced on Mercury's lips. Finder was a genius.

He was also back at her side. "Mind if I take her back?"

Luna's eyes didn't leave the victor. She finally shook her head slightly, as if she was contemplating a frustrating enigma. "Thanks, Mercury." She muttered.

"You have my permission too." Gimmick deadpanned.

"Thanks, Man." Finder said, not sure if the kid was being serious. "Let's get out of here, you look caged." He whispered.

Mercury gave him a wan smile. He was right, she didn't fit anymore.

It was disturbing to say the least. Everyone noticed her, their every conversation seemed to revolve around her when she passed them; the same people that might not even have spared her a glance a few months before. The people that would never have argued then that she belonged with them and that now abashedly stared at the ground when she caught them staring, a safe three meters away from her.

A decidedly _unabashed_ whisper pierced through her bitter musings.

"I love the way she walks, I mean check out that ass!"

Finder and Mercury shared a pointed look but didn't slow down. The younger orphan bowed his head slightly when Mercury winked, letting her decide how to deal with the offender.

"She's out of your league now, Dude." Another slightly broken male voice said, in the loud hushed tones of those who'd never learned to whisper.

The girl of the trio huffed. "You never even looked at her before the Games, and I assure you that Fiddle hasn't changed the way she walks."

"You check out chicks' asses too, Birdie?"

Finder stifled a guffaw while Mercury affected an aggravated sigh. The girl's reply made her amusement evaporate.

"She killed people!"

"She had to, besides dangerous women are the hottest."

_Time to intervene._

The object of their heated discussion turned around and smiled thinly at the three young teenagers. "Then I'll remember to introduce you to Enobaria if she ever visits. She outclasses me by far."

The two boys blanched, almost losing their balance in shock. Mercury felt a pang of guilt; they were just being normal.

"Dude, learn to whisper or I'll have to kick _your _ass." Finder warned, putting an arm around the dark-haired victor's waist. "And then you'll thank me for not letting her do it."

"Can you please leave? The door is closer to you." 'Birdie' said, wincing in embarrassment. "I mean, since we don't have shovels to dig a hole we can hide in…."

Finder chuckled, eying the bony girl appraisingly. Mercury hid a grin behind a mask of superiority and elegantly spun around, sparing the three further humiliations.

She was careful not to let her hips sway at all as she disappeared from sight.

"Will you introduce _me_ to Enobaria?" Finder said in a small voice.

"Do you even want to?"

The boy shivered. "No!"

"Then don't be silly." Mercury said, repressing a sudden spark of anger. Enobaria was just another person, maybe colder and more brutal than the norm, but still only a teenager twisted by the Capitol. She had been the only victor to see what Mercury had really needed after the Games. The young woman from Two should never be considered a monster.

* * *

Mercury was running, the effort clearing her mind. She allowed herself to simply enjoy the wind and the energy coursing through her body.

The menacing gray skies cast dark shadows over the barren landscape. Victors' village stood alone on a lush hill, a haven of grass among the tall silver spires that aspired to challenge the heavens themselves.

Mercury drank in the sight, fascinated as always by the ever changing swirling clouds. She had always regretted that the study of meteorology had been entrusted to District Four.

She stopped abruptly in her tracks. A small lone figure sat waiting for her on the grass, a hundred yards from the village's entrance.

Optima Feyn jumped to her feet, a determined cast to her elfin features. She walked purposefully up to the victor, ignoring the light drizzle. "Who was Rachel Galloway to my brother?" she asked, her fists balled against her small hips.

Mercury swallowed, turning her undivided attention on the dusky-skinned child before her. She was keenly aware of the power her words would have and prayed she would do this right.

What did Algor's sister want to hear? What did Optima need?

"Algor told me that the best time of the day for him was hanging the laundry to dry," Mercury began, making the girl sit down next to her, "because the cat would get tangled in the ropes, mistaking it all for a game. He said you two never laughed so much as when Chalk went wild while you tried to do your chores."

Mercury's wistful words erased the tightness from the child's face, replacing it with fierce longing.

"He talked to you about Chalk?" Optima whispered, a choked chuckle escaping her quivering lips.

Mercury sat on her trembling hands, not wanting the girl to see she was dangerously close to crying herself. Somehow, she managed to keep her voice from breaking. "He wanted you and everyone else to remember him for the great things he'd done. He decided to try and give someone a chance instead of killing. It doesn't matter that Rachel was almost a total stranger, what matters is that he was brave."

The drizzle was quickly giving way to icy rain. Mercury draped her coat over the two of them, glad the raindrops hid her tears.

"He used the Capitol force-field beneath his window as a giant trampoline during his last nights before the Games. He was still excited at breakfast." Mercury added with a pained smile as Optima stared soundlessly in the distance.

"Sounds fun." The ten-year old muttered, a bittersweet twitch to her lips. She inhaled sharply. "Why didn't you even try to ally with him? He was your district partner."

There was no reproach in her treble voice, just a heart-wrenching sense of loss.

Mercury lowered her burning eyes. "Algor knew he couldn't win. He didn't want you to see him suffer for days." The victor pulled the old plush toy out of her pocket, now glad that she always carried the tokens around. "It gave him strength. He'll want you to have it back."

"Why was he so sure he'd lose?" Optima ground out brokenly before burying her tear-stained face against in her lap, Ducky pressed against her heart.

Mercury drew a painful breath, her free arm reaching out for the distraught child.

A violent clap of thunder ripped through the skies, detonating like a doomsday weapon in the tenebrous landscape.

It was only when the icy water began trickling down her bare neck that a wild-eyed Mercury realized she had bolted to her feet. She forced her hammering heart to slow.

_Who was the genius who had thought of using cannon blasts in the Arena? _

Optima sniffed as the seventeen year old set the coat back over their heads. "I knew he was dead even before I said goodbye. My parents didn't want me talking to you."

"Kind people don't win the Games." The victor bitterly said, unable to disagree with Algor's parents. "Being dead is neither painful nor sad. It's those who mourn who suffer, Optima. "

_Those who survive._

"What happened wasn't fair," Mercury continued, her voice thick with emotion,"but Algor would want you to talk about the good times, with your parents, Lemma and his other friends. He'd want you to be happy and tell your kids how awesome he was while laughing about it."

"You're okay. I'm glad it was you, since it couldn't be him." Optima said after a pause. "Algor would want you to be happy too."

Mercury marveled that a child could find such compassion in her. She pulled the little girl into a hug, wondering for the first time if the Capitol would ever let her have a family of her own.

"I'll do my best." She whispered, holding the shivering child tightly.

Soaked and freezing, Optima gifted her with a brave smile. "So will I, I promise. For Algor."

"For Algor," Mercury hoarsely repeated. "Never come again, you don't want the Capitol to remember your family."

Optima nodded seriously before fleeing in the rain. Soon the fog swallowed even her rainbow beret. Mercury didn't withhold her tears anymore.

Aster frowned at her when she finally walked inside the mansion she hoped to learn to call home. "Take your clothes off."

Mercury's lips twitched. "What a gentleman you make."

A pink tinge suffused the man's cheeks. "You're soaked, Mercury. Get changed."

"Optima truly is a darling." Mercury absently said, stripping into her underwear behind her bedroom's door. Unabashedly being herself around Aster despite the bugged home was revealing itself to be much less of a challenge than she'd feared.

"Do you believe you helped her?" Aster asked, concern lacing his tone.

A bittersweet smile bloomed on Mercury's lips. "Yes. She won't come again."

"Don't make a habit of risking pneumonia to heal broken hearts."

The man was back to his silken sarcastic self.

"And I have a book waiting for you on the table." He added.

Mercury finally found how to fasten the maroon dress' clasp and opened the door. Aster leniently handed her a clip to hold her dripping hair before grasping her hand and pulling her into a lingering kiss.

"It's not a fun read." He then said, somewhat apologetic.

Mercury blinked, wondering why he felt the need to fluster her with a kiss every time he was about to say something serious. It was awfully distracting. "Instructive?" She breathily asked.

"Immensely."

"Then I'll find it fun." Mercury assured him.

Her eyes widened as they fell on the thick book resting on the dining table.

_A comprehensive guide to toxic plants and mushrooms of North and Central America: keeping your adventurous eating experiences safe._

"This is ancient!" Mercury said in awe, reverently brushing her fingers on the tome.

Aster cleared his throat pointedly. "When you're quite finished contemplating it…."

Mercury flashed him a grin before settling comfortably on his lap. "Why is it so important?"

Aster snaked his arms around her waist, his jaw tightening as his dark eyes flashed back to the hardback manual. "The live version of the Game is retransmitted in the districts and the Capitol with a three minute delay, enough for the cameras to focus on the most _thrilling_ of the action and to avoid broadcasting any inconvenient statements. Mentors have access to an accurate non-delayed version of events but the arena does not come with captions."

Mercury shut her eyes as she finally understood. Sponsor money was useless unless you knew exactly what was wrong with your tribute and what medicine to send. A mentor who couldn't recognize poisonous plants was useless. She leaned back into the older victor's arms, taking what comfort she could. His warmth almost erased her worries. "After this, you'll give me an anatomy text right? Just so that when I'll lose a tribute, it won't be because of my ignorance."

"Yes."

Any kind of control was preferable to letting the Capitol shred what remained of their sanity.

"Thank you, Aster."


	49. PG12: Not broken

Mercury sighed in relief once she had passed the gates of the university, finally shortening her strides to ease the strain on her burning lungs. The paved courtyard was empty; Mercury smiled at the familiar sight, now safe from the passersby's curious glances.

Objectively, few people seemed hostile to her presence despite her being a physical reminder of the hundreds of lives claimed by the Hunger Games, of the power of the Capitol and of the threat looming over every youngster in Three, but every stare reminded her of her status as a victor and inevitably brought her back to the Games when all she wished was to minimize their influence on her life.

The sharp sound of heels on epoxy made Mercury's lips twitch further. Grace's fondness for stylish pumps was as notorious as her exacting teaching standards. The woman wasn't in the habit of making greater allowances for beginners than for confirmed scientists and therefore condemned her students to long years of praise-less toil. A certain type of personality was required to appreciate her as a tutor and every year during the assignment trials, dozens of twelve year olds left her lab in tears, unable to weather her harsh criticism.

Lenz was the only other teenager in Mercury's advanced class that came from the Web. The other four were gifted technician children who would stop at nothing to climb from the downtown Hives to the silver spires housing Three's elite. They could not afford to fail and didn't expect to be coddled, unlike many of the more sensitive children from privileged Web homes. Grace's criticism was never personal, so the six and their teacher had quickly fallen into an efficient working pattern. They crammed six days of work into four each week, which was necessary considering Lenz was the only one who could afford his studies without a job on the side.

Mercury grinned, remembering how Grace had ordered them to call her by her first name because 'disrespect is much easier to detect when people don't hide behind titles'. Their stoic little group had gulped as one.

"Reminiscing?" Grace said, a surprisingly fond expression on her face.

"I am. I can't thank you enough."

"We'll use Boson's facilities. He died of a heart attack three days ago."

The victor froze. She narrowed her eyes at her teacher, finding the announcement quite cold, even for Grace. She suspected that she would hate the subtext.

"Has there been an epidemic of heart attacks?"

"There has indeed." Grace dryly said. "Gimbal and Orrery also succumbed to it. The others seem fine but they're all adopting _strict diets_ now."

Mercury sighed in aggravation. She'd known this would happen with Snow culling the suspected rebels out. "I'm getting blasé. I should be mourning and I'm just fed up."

"Don't make yourself miserable, they're beyond caring now." Grace said somberly, resting a hand on the young woman's shoulder as they headed towards the building.

"Why aren't we using Professor Gimbal's facilities? They're more modern."

Grace winced, emotion clouding her lined face. "Pure sentimentalism, I dated him when I was your age."

"Dumped him when you figured out his rebellious thoughts might cause his heart to give out in his fifties?"

Grace's lips twitched at the victor's dark humor, sadness obvious in her eyes. "You're awful. We just grew bored of each other."

"Does this sudden volunteering of personal information mean my status has changed? I'll miss the challenge of painstakingly drawing scraps of information from you."

"A good thing your status _has_ indeed changed considering how insolent you are today, Mercury."

The accused abashedly looked down, not knowing whether she was supposed to offer her condolences or to take Grace's attitude as cue to act as if nothing had happened. She settled for lightly grasping the older woman's arm.

"Neither Daemon or any of my former employers have contacted me again, I doubt they will now. I guess that means interviews for the Capitol will be my only true schedule constraint."

"Knock at their door if it bothers you. Maybe they're just being shy and don't imagine you'd just like to come over and chat."

Mercury could sense that Grace was both uncomfortable and paradoxically relieved to have this conversation. Her lips twitched, wondering how many of them would have bet all those years ago that the middle-aged woman actually cared.

"It's better this way. The transition is cleaner. Does your son know you agreed to keep teaching me?"

Grace rolled her eyes. "He's all grown up now; if I'm shot he'll live. I'm perfectly capable of making my own decisions."

Mercury lifted her arms up in surrender, still unable to believe her luck. "I'm not complaining, Grace. Not ever."

"I sure hope you aren't, young lady. Let's get some work done."

The dark-haired orphan knew that voice. It meant Grace had planned at least six hours of experimental procedures. Not even the most passionate of pupils ever matched Grace's enthusiasm for complex physics. A helpless grin lit Mercury's face; it would not be the first time she left class with a killer headache, desperate to commit all the newly imparted data to memory. Just like old times.

* * *

Mercury shook her head in wry amusement. Beetee and Wiress had arranged her living room to give an eccentric and cozy vibe to her home that would appeal to Capitol watchers. Her first 'talent show' was the very afternoon.

"I can't believe I didn't have the inspiration to decorate this way two weeks ago," the youngest victor said, sarcasm evident in her tone.

The amount of useless electronic clutter, from spider-shaped colored lamps to small rugs that changed pattern when the noise level increased was unbelievable.

Beetee chuckled. The twitch in his hands seemed to worsen. "We have a room full of showy gizmos in the basement. I also apologize for having placed the mirrors in front of the subtly concealed cameras in the walls; it truly was the most aesthetic location."

Mercury laughed."You're awesome, Beetee."

"It's Volts. I mean it." The aging victor replied, a vehement ring to his usually soft voice.

"Could the Awesome Volts spare me a minute?" Aster called from the other side of the room, his dark eyes glowering at the tangle of wires and cables connecting the various useless appliances.

A little laugh escaped Wiress' lips. "Go outside."

"If you stay, you might antagonize our esteemed visitors." Beetee explained with a rueful smile.

"Are you certain the fuse won't blow when we add the Tesla coil?" Aster said, ignoring the light teasing.

The bespectacled victor straightened, an affronted expression on his face. "Leave informatics and electronics to me, Lad. I don't get involved in your chemistry, do I?"

"You're happy enough. He can." Wiress said brightly, before Aster could deliver a scathing remark.

"I'd have kissed Aster earlier had I known you were just waiting for him to be less miserable to feel allowed to tease him." Mercury said with a grin, happy she'd followed the older woman's thought process for once.

"Stop chatting; we will need to test the device one last time before six." Aster said, his severe expression vanishing as he winked at Mercury. "And I'm certainly not spontaneously staying for the interview, only Mercury's presence is required."

A broad smile drew itself on Beetee's ashen face. "They actually forgot us? I'm offended."

The orphan was unsure whether she felt unease or just hope at seeing how the other victors turned the Capitol crew's arrival into a social occasion. Wiress and Beet…_Volts_, were certainly having fun.

As the ostentatious atomic clock chimed seven, Mercury pulled the white curtain off the Tesla coil's enclosure in front of the expectant Capitolites, a superior smile plastered on her lips.

One of the men almost dropped his camera when white sparks erupted in the room, slamming like frenzied captive snakes against the large metal cage. They gasped in awe when they finally made out the Capitol Anthem amidst the sizzling.

No point in being subtle about licking Snow's boots.

The spiky-haired journalist was still slack-jawed when the singing coil stopped.

"It can be designed to play any tune," Mercury began.

"Is it safe?"

"In this house, absolutely, but it could kill inexperienced users. The voltage is extremely high."

And Mercury had no intension to open a shop.

She added. "With President Snow's approval I could even design one as an auction price to fund my old orphanage."

_And the next Games._ Mercury held no illusions as to who would collect the lion's share of any profit.

Dozens of bubbly questions spilled from the journalist's mouth, on the Tesla coil and her _oh so exciting_ life as a victor. The man also tried to make her talk about Aster, but he was too curious about the singing coil to realize she'd deflected all his inquiries and simply confirmed they were indeed an item.

"When are you coming back to the Capitol?" the journalist finished breathlessly.

"I have a commission from Judge Blueblood. He will summon me at his pleasure. I fear I will not be as available for the rest of you as I would have liked."

Beneath her regretful facade, Mercury marveled at how easy it was to feed these people what they wanted. The flash of fear on the Capitolites' faces as she mentioned the Minister of Justice almost made the farce bearable.

The dark-haired victor had finished watching the records of her own Games the day before. The family interviews in the districts had been the hardest; these were people who were still alive to mourn their lives the Games had claimed. Nevertheless, if the previous two weeks were any indication of what her new life would be, her future would not be so bleak as she had feared. She dreaded the victory tour and the following Games, the mere thought chilling her to the bone and sapping her strength; but she was now confident that even those hardships would fail to erase the smile from her lips when she spent time with Aster or studied with Grace.

Day after day, Mercury awoke from her tumultuous dreams filled with new pride. Despite all odds, she had survived. She was many things, murderer and reluctant collaborator among them, but she wasn't broken.

* * *

**And this concludes the arc in District Three.  
What is your opinion of Grace? Of Finder?  
What do you think of Aster and Mercury's relationship? Of the way Mercury copes with trauma and goes on with her life?  
**

**Thank you for reviewing.  
**


	50. Victory Tour: old wounds reopened

Everything was neatly stored in three separate suitcases. She'd had everything packed for weeks, from clothes to the speeches she would have to deliver, and had imagined dozens of scenarios, trying to prepare for any question that might be hurled at her and any accusation from the dead tribute's family members.

Mercury bit her lip, her frustration exceeding her wariness. It was as if the last five months hadn't happened; she twitched at every odd sound and couldn't take her mind off the Games. While she tried to convince herself that such a reaction was inevitable and would pass after the tour, she couldn't feel calm about spending the next two weeks in such a state of emotional fragility.

"You can't come." She suddenly told Aster, her hands shaking as she desperately thought for something to occupy them.

"Don't be absurd." The man said, putting arm around her waist. "I'll find you desirable and worthy of respect even if you deliver your first speech inebriated enough to put Haymich Abernathy to shame."

Mercury sighed, a weary smile on her lips. "Don't let me arrive drunk. District Twelve deserves better than that."

"Do be dignified as you glorify the Games, they'll only love you more."

Mercury huffed. "Oh, be quiet!" Would the man ever understand that illusions were sometimes healthy?

Aster's grasped her chin, planting a kiss on her lips. "Don't base your self-worth or felicity on anything you do for the Capitol. For the next few weeks you are their poster-girl, don't expect to find closure."

_Just another distasteful chore._

As her lover's intense gaze caressed her face, her mind began to wonder on how to occupy the short hour of freedom they still had left.

A soft knock on the door pierced through her fantasies.

A tall gray-haired woman burst in the room. Her aquiline features were tantalizingly familiar.

"Beetee let me in. He said you'd be here. You should know better than leave without a word, Aster."

The woman stared in unconcealed curiosity at the younger victor. "Can you believe I'm so terrifying that I have to rudely invite myself in to finally meet you? You're quite pretty and not shamefully young; I can't fathom why Aster didn't come to brag."

The man mumbled something incoherent, a pink tinge to his cheeks.

"Nice to meet you, Mrs. Polaris." Mercury said, her eyes shining with suppressed mirth. She had wondered for months why Aster was so reluctant to introduce her to his mother. She was starting to suspect that it had to do with Dubhe Polaris being the only person who could truly fluster him.

"Call me Dubhe, Darling. I've been so desperate to see him hook up; you'll forgive me for treating you like family so soon."

The gray-haired woman tutted as Aster shot her an exasperated glance. "Had you introduced us earlier, I'd have made an effort, dear. But it's now been five months and you're still together, so I don't think I have to worry about breaking you up by being too enthusiastic."

Mercury had to bite her tongue to avoid laughing at Aster's unease. A fond expression entered her eyes.

"I'll be delighted to visit you once we come back. Aster will be happy to have some free time." She caught the flash of panic in her lover's eyes. "I'll stop her if she wants to tell me embarrassing anecdotes about your childhood."

Aster forced a smile. "You won't, but I will survive the mortification."

"You'd better, because she's most definitely coming over." Dubhe announced, patting Mercury's arm. Her eyes narrowed as she glimpsed the victor's tattoo.

"Why such a ferocious wolf? I'd have pictured you as more of a raccoon person."

Mercury blinked, unable to determine whether the woman had made a clever remark about the masks she had to wear for the Capitol or if she was just a talkative person with a peculiar fondness for raccoons.

"I'm also quite glad you let your hair grow again. You did have the airs of a Capitol diva when you came back."

"Mother." The warning note in Aster's voice made the older woman sigh.

"Have you prepared for cold winds? The spring won't be so mild everywhere else."

"The Capitol team never fails to bring a cart of vestments for victors along." Aster said with a huff.

"But since you'll be wearing things from home, you need to be prepared." Dubhe said, opening Aster's luggage.

Mercury observed the interaction in acute interest. Aster seemed unable to truly rebuke his mother but also at a loss of what to say. Small talk was not his forte, but this seemed something deeper. The blue-eyed victor wondered what it had to be like, to love a parent but have so little in common. She frowned, suddenly suspicious. She had always assumed he came from a Web family.

"What did you do for a living, before?"

Dubhe froze, a flicker of fear in her eyes. "I had a master's in system architecture but it would've been impractical for me to work. Cal and I lived at the edge of town; he welded the hovercraft's GPS system circuits just before they were sent to Six.

Mercury shot Aster a glance, he stood stiff, unconcealed anger on his features. His mother had given up a solid job for a low-level technician and had never had another activity? They had to have been dirt-poor.

"Father never physically mistreated us, and was quite charming but only as long as his absurd rules were upheld." Aster added, a rare rage lacing his low voice. "He died from illness when I was fifteen."

"He loved us."

"I'm certain he firmly believed that he did."

"I packed Aster's suitcase." Mercury said, wishing she had had the courage to press about Aster's family earlier. She realized now that he hadn't deflected the questions to her own parents simply to satisfy his own curiosity.

"It explains a lot." Dubhe said with a smile, as if the last minute hadn't happened. "He's never learned to fold his shirts properly." She pulled her son into a hug. "Come by when you're back."

Aster returned the hug and planted a soft kiss on the woman's hair. "I promise. Dante will be here very soon, you should leave."

"I am, I am." She winked at Mercury. "Don't forget to grab what fun you can."

They led her to the door, finding Volts and Wiress on the sofa. Volts seemed quite captivated by the ceiling.

As soon as Dubhe was gone, Mercury firmly grasped Aster's arm, recognizing the dangerous light in his eyes. Volts should never have overheard the conversation. The temperature in the room was suddenly chilling.

"I hope that was enlightening." Aster said, acid dripping from his voice.

"I'm old, my hearing's terrible, couldn't have overheard even if I wanted to." Volts answered nervously, backing away.

Aster's tight smile was all but warm. "Then why so twitchy, old man?"

"Sorry." Wiress said, guilt evident on her features.

"Get out. We'll see you after the rides." Mercury said, knowing their presence could only worsen the situation. She granted them a small smile. They meant well, they always did.

Aster shut the door firmly behind them,

"You taught yourself chemistry because you had to leave school once you obtained your technician's degree." Mercury's lips twitched. "Doubtless the highest score in a decade."

Aster chuckled mirthlessly. "Father believed a real man needed both a physical job and to provide for his family. He refused to acknowledge that we barely survived on what he brought back home. He never wanted mother to have a job. I never understood where his convictions came from. Otherwise he was cheerful and always thrilled to help me become the tough technician son he'd always wanted."

"And your mother played along, despite how obvious your misery was. You still don't know how to talk to her because you have never had that necessary conversation."

"She is either deluded, selfish or a coward. She's my mother, I don't want her to die alone feeling abandoned, but there is little to say."

Mercury sighed, at a loss. "My parents died a day they shouldn't have spent working, the reaping of the 55th Games. But there was an emergency so anyone who wasn't required to attend had been asked to go and promised a week's pay. I can't remember what present I'd wanted for my birthday, just that it was what the day's earnings would have bought. The emergency had obviously been a malfunction of the particle generators. There were nine dead."

She hadn't told him because she felt guilty to this day and she'd never been quite prepared to spend a depressing evening dredging up childhood trauma.

"Spoiling children kills…" Aster said with a hint of a smile.

Mercury grabbed a cushion and hit him, hard. He grasped her wrist and pulled her towards him before she could assault him again. "I am truly sorry you lost them, Mercury."

"I know." Mercury said with a wistful smile, letting the cushion drop to the floor as she snuggled against his chest. "I just figure that had I told you earlier, you might have opened up too and I'd have known not to ask your mother sensitive questions."

Aster let his arms slide to her waist, his jaw tight again. "I only have an issue with Beetee and Wiress invading my privacy."

"It wouldn't have happened had you introduced us earlier."

Saved by the doorbell's chime, Aster didn't answer.

Dante's bronze cloak was almost as blinding as his whitened teeth. "The train is ready; you'll avoid the journalists if you follow me now."

"She's not going to sleep with you again even if you do us favors, Dante."

Dante glowered. He gestured to the two avoxes behind him. "Dike, Oscen, take their luggage to the train."

"I surmise your house is under surveillance." Dante muttered once they were outside.

"I assuredly would never have made your act of kindness pass for lecherous behavior otherwise, Dante. Surely you do not think so poorly of me," Aster said, an offended expression on his face.

Mercury elbowed him, trying not to grin too openly. "Don't start; we're not even out of Three yet."

Aster smirked at Dante.

"Couldn't resist, could you," the Capitolite said dryly.

"It is nice to see you again, Dante," the younger victor said with her sweetest smile.

The old escort's expression softened. "Thank you, Mercury."

* * *

She was neither drunk nor under the influence of any drug as she stepped up on the platform.

She felt like she'd taken a leap backwards in time. Only the cameras and microphone betrayed the fact that Twelve wasn't frozen in the nineteenth's century of the pre-cataclysm era; a dreary and penurious nineteenth century. Whip-thin hardened faces stared up at her. Even the children looked older than their years. Mercury had never before measured how privileged she was in Three.

"In its great wisdom, the Capitol maintains the Games to remind us that, just a few generations ago, uprisings of unconscionable barbarity almost destroyed Panem. And we have not forgotten. As we watch the Games, we are reminded of our weakness and of our duty. When we play the Games, we are reminded that no matter how crafty or willful, no tribute will ever make his own rules."

Mercury paused, her solemn face deceptively devoid of emotion. "I played by the rules and won, and this is why I stand here today, granted the highest honor the Capitol can discern a District citizen. Bryony Succor and Tindal Soot, _Dash_, also tried to play the Games, for obvious reasons. The Capitol grants you this feast so that you never forget them, and most importantly the Games that keep Panem the civilization it is."

She stepped back from the microphone, proud not to have stuttered at the tributes' names. She could see some peacekeepers frowning near the platform as whispers broke out in the crowd. She'd made her speech as ambiguous as she dared. Dissenters would interpret their _duty_ as sabotage and conspiring and not the servitude their overlords expected, they would hear her last sentence as a call to rebel instead of a statement about the grandeur of the Capitol.

Mercury didn't pay attention to the mayor's words, entranced by a lone figure in the crowd. A balding old man hadn't torn his gaze away from her face since she had started talking. His intelligent eyes were blazing with an unfathomable emotion. He suddenly flashed her a pained but genuine smile before disappearing again into the crowd.

_Who was he? Bryony's grandfather? An old family friend of Dash's?_

Mercury ached to step down the stage and mingle with the families, to see their faces, try and soothe their pain. But she knew Volts had been right. It would be dangerous and selfish.

A defiant female voice broke through the crowd, thick with sarcasm. "Thanks for killing Bryony's murderer!"

A harsh whisper escaped Mercury's lips before she could stop herself; she was tired of being judged. "You could've volunteered for her."

Her hand flew to her mouth but the damage was done. The outspoken Seam teenager staggered, steadied by an ashen-faced bearded man.

Both Dante and Aster were on Mercury's side in an instant, escorting her towards the group of expectant journalists, away from the dismissed crowd.

Mercury slammed the door shut and let herself fall on the double bed. Apparently the organizers hadn't even considered accommodating Aster and her separately.

"It won't happen again."

"Except for that outburst, you were irreproachable." Aster said in soft tones, sitting next to her.

"I rubbed salt in some poor girl's raw wound because I can't deal with people seeing me as a ruthless Capitol puppet. I want them to deal with their grief without lashing out at me and yet I'm doing exactly the opposite." Mercury took a shaky breath, a steely expression entering her eyes. "You were right. I need to detach myself from them. It won't happen again."

She remembered Dash running back towards the Cornucopia to avenge Tesu, the fire in his eyes extinguished by Paloma's swift rapier. Gamina's soundless howl of pain.

She could see brave little Bryony, as clearly as if she was back in the arena, stunning Chester with a stone in the panic created by the crazed goats, almost invisible amidst the eerie holograms._ Almost._

She swallowed back her tears, determined not to let the pain spur rash decisions. And it was only the beginning.

"How do you deal with all the families of the kids you failed to bring home, Aster?"

The man didn't answer for a while, his hands absently kneading her shoulder muscles. "I avoid them. Great sponsor gifts won't turn unfit children into victors. I'm not the one who killed them. Besides, being born in Three doesn't make a tribute more deserving than the others."

He'd spat _deserving_ like a curse. Mercury wondered nevertheless how much of the man she loved died with each of these children.

"I'm glad you came." She finally whispered, closing her eyes.

* * *

She'd kept her word. She hadn't attempted to subtly reach out like she had in Twelve. She'd neither mentioned Apple's brave act of rebellion nor how Mesmer would doubtless had won had it not been for his vanity. Her speech had been meaningless drivel; no one expected any more from her and while she felt disgusted, she was more serene.

Mercury lifted her eyes from her diary as the door swung open.

The knife she'd grabbed didn't leave her hand: the young woman before her had let her dress slip to the floor.

A very naked Zephyranth gave her a small smile before stepping forward. "That's what you do, no? Ask people to strip to check for weapons. Unless you enjoy the view, please hand me your bathrobe."

Her eyes never leaving Mesmer's former girlfriend, the victor unpegged her bathrobe from the other door and gestured the mulatto girl to come closer. She briefly checked Zephyranth's discarded dress, in case the girl was here on a suicide mission and had introduced a bomb on the train. She only found a pair of knives.

"Even if the peacekeeper who let you in keeps quiet, the train is bugged." Mercury warned her, both wary and oddly happy to meet the girl.

Zephyranth shrugged, toying with the soft fabric. "Do you think Mesmer would've been happy to win?"

She had the harassed air of someone who'd been asking herself a great many unpleasant questions.

"No. He loved his freedom. Would he have preferred to die? I honestly doubt it."

Zephyranth let out a sharp chuckle. "No shit. Now I'm stuck keeping promises. When he was reaped I was furious and terrified, but then I let myself hope. Hope I'd forget what starving felt like, hope I'd be able to make plans instead of living day to day. With Mesmer."

Throwing her dyed braids behind her shoulders, the girl cleared her throat. "But I'm not here to make you miserable. I've got sense enough not to poison my life with hate. You gave Mesmer a second chance to score your win; at least you recognized his worth." She paused, her eyes far away. "That meant loads to him. I'm here because I want you to make Seeder hire me at her clinic."

Mercury frowned. "Why not ask her?"

"Because you feel guiltier than she does and I already did, kind of. She's angry because Mesmer manipulated her to try and win. Quite hypocritical of her considering she's been lying to every tribute she's mentored to give them hope. Obviously, control issues aside, she's afraid of something too. "

Mercury bristled at Zephyranth's condemning tone. The prostitute had maybe nothing to lose but every unconventional action victors made was a gamble. It was still too early to predict what provoked Snow's ire, especially with no real contact between victors outside the Games period.

"Do you have any idea of how to mind animals?"

Zephyranth full lips bloomed into a suggestive smile. "Only the ones on two legs."

Mercury repressed a snort. Zephyranth probably had little experience with children either. Hiring the unformed girl would inconvenience Seeder and make a buzz, both in Eleven and in the Capitol.

"You truly want to change your life so radically? It'll be hard work and it's hard to help traumatized people unless you genuinely care, children especially."

"I already do work hard and I can care for kids." Zephyranth's voice dropped to a bitter whisper. "I promised Mesmer I'd get away."

Mercury's insides churned with stubborn guilt. She feared this was one argument her reason would not win. "You want me to persuade Seeder you're worth more than the kids she treats. Hiring incompetent people as a favor can only decrease her chances of success, at least until you learn the job. You do realize you also have a reputation."

The victor's aggressiveness was pure show. She suspected that if Snow was convinced that she had loathed giving in to Zephyranth, she and Seeder would be safer. Unfortunately, she was also confident that Seeder wouldn't need to fake her annoyance if Mercury tried to force her hand.

"I don't care. You'll do it. You used Mesmer as a disposable weapon. Surely you're tired of him invading your nightmares? He wasn't like your other allies, and you know it. Mesmer actually had a chance. You chose this, it's your responsibility to try and make things right."

Despite her amiable tone, Zephyranth's words had the effect of burning acid on the victor's skin.

Mercury let out a pained sigh, her nails painfully digging in her palms. "Very well."

* * *

"No." Seeder said firmly.

Dawn filtered through the dark clouds; the train engine's roar covered their conversation.

"I'll transfer you my mentor's credits next year unless I'm confident my tribute will win."

Seeder's eyebrows shot up to her hairline. "On your first mentoring year? Don't be ridiculous."

"I'm very serious."

Mercury loathed the idea of failing to right the wrongs she had willingly committed more than that of withholding her support from an already condemned tribute.

"I need patient, genuine and empathetic employees; she's maybe the first but certainly not the third. There are dozens of good people in Eleven who are more deserving than this prostitute, people who have starving families. How do I explain hiring her to them? You're being selfish in the vain hope this will help you deal."

"I know it will. The starving families are irrelevant. You not hiring Zephyranth won't make them any less starving. No one's going to say anything as long as you stay by your decision."

Seeder sighed, closing her eyes. "It doesn't help. I won over thirty years ago, Mercury. There is healthy hope and the hope that drains your strength."

A bittersweet smile drew itself on Mercury's lips. _As if giving up would make her feel more at peace_.

"Zephyranth will be happier, independently of us. This is also your opportunity to teach her to enjoy life again. You live to mend broken children. It's your redemption, your compensation for the Games."

"You're bordering on emotional blackmail."

"You want to say yes but you don't like making choices because it reminds you of your responsibilities and all the other unsavory choices you actually have."

"Aren't you sharp," Seeder said, her expression tight as she crossed her arms.

"Mastering subtext became quintessential after I began dating Aster."

The olive-skinned woman had to bite back a smile.

Mercury put her hand on the Seeder's arm, fondness softening her features. "You're also too mature; I'm making you think instead of making you defensive and angry."

Seeder huffed. She poked Mercury's nose, as if the other was an obnoxious kid. "I'm proud of that, thank you very much."

"I really appreciate, it. Thank you."

"Your train is leaving, you manipulative minx. Get on it." The woman said, before taking a shaky breath. "I'll tell you how well she did at the 64th."

"You're a great person, Seeder ," Mercury's face broke into a genuine smile, "and I don't mean that to flatter you into doing me another favor later."

"Of course not, you'll just figure something else on the spot."

Mercury's smile broadened as she climbed on the whistling train.

* * *

Seeing the mass instead of the people was the trick. Mercury had kept her eyes on the mounted peacekeepers in Ten, absently admiring their muscled horses. She had steered her curious mind away from the albino boy in the front row and kept her eyes away from people's faces focusing on their hide coats. Her suffering would not ease the oppression or the pain, nor would it soothe her guilt. It would simply distress Aster and sadden Dante. It was easier than she was proud to admit.

"We'll reach Eight in less than an hour." Dante informed them, his eyes riveted on the chess set, desperate to win at least one game against Aster.

Mercury nodded, her fingers playing absently with the silk fringes of her big scarf.

Nine had been silent. So silent that it was an obvious statement.

_Rose and Harrow could never have won. It is to their credit. We didn't live by the same set of rules. Our choices and beliefs make us who we are. I am proud to have won._

She hadn't said more. There was nothing to add, nothing to explain. Her first allies deserved a better eulogy, but Nine didn't need Mercury to tell them how to mourn their late tributes. She didn't know how to mourn them herself.

"There is no burial, no institutionalized ritual or ceremony to say goodbye. Just a hovercraft that takes the bodies away…." Mercury muttered.

She could still hear Harrow's rich laughter and see Rosemary's amused scowl. They hadn't faded. Yet while she did grieve, their passing hadn't left scars as deep as Drake's or Georgie's. Maybe because they had known; they had been adults faced with cruel odds. Georgie and Drake had died before their eyes had ever truly opened.

And Yolo had died because his finally had.

"They're not returned to their families?" Dante said, his voice rising in outrage.

"Why waste the money?" Mercury bitterly replied.

Aster's lips curled into a sneer, he moved his rook to threaten the escort's last bishop. "How can you even be surprised, old man?"

"I reckon that by not asking myself questions, I'll die before learning too may unpleasant facts. Living in the Capitol is _so _comfortable."

"Hey," Mercury intervened, "if you start being snide too, Dante, I'm not staying in the same room as you two."

Dante inclined his head in apology before moving his bishop to safety. He huffed when Aster lazily announced check.

Mercury's lips twisted in disgust when she realized the gray hue to the windows was not a trick of the light but industrial dust.

_Filthy._

There were no other words to describe Eight. This District was ill down to the depths of the earth, poisoned by toxic industrial wastes and poor sanitation. Mercury pulled her scarf up to her nose, wondering if she would manage to deliver her speech without coughing.

Something sharp hit her abdomen just as the mayor had turned to her.

Her hand went to her side. A sharp broken capsule fell from her wound, her fingers were slick with blood mixed with a pungent liquid.

She staggered, her panicked eyes falling on a screaming ginger boy struggling against peacekeepers. He had a sling in his hand and achingly familiar features. Whispers of conversations she often wished to forget assaulted her ears.

"You killed her! She trusted you and you killed her. You deserve to die!"

"Leave Batiste alone," Mercury rasped in the microphone, "physical pain distracts from the real pain. The one of crushed hope and dead siblings." She couldn't let them whip the nine year old, let alone kill him, no matter how horrid she had to be. "We are who we are. You saw the Games, don't pretend your sister was anything else."

Her vision swam. She felt Aster's grip on her arms; a ghost of a smile graced her lips as her fear fled. He'd make her better, he always did. She let the sewn penguin in her pocket fall from her numb fingers.

Everything was so dark.

_I'm so sorry, Georgie._


	51. Victory Tour: collateral damage

Mercury had never suspected eyelids could be so heavy. Her muscles had turned to cotton; she felt no pain but her body seemed deaf to her commands. She forced herself to keep calm.

Slowly, her awareness returned. She flexed her numb fingers, chilled to the bone.

Her eyes finally deigned to obey her brain's feeble commands, revealing a dimly lit room. There were neither windows nor decorations, only monitors and a Plexiglas barrier separating her from the corridor.

She blinked sluggishly. She'd studied the electronics behind those monitors, they weren't widely distributed. She was in a peacekeeper bunker, probably still in Eight. They had doubtless given her the best medical facilities in the District.

She shivered despite the thick blanket covering her upper body. A shape appeared at the edge of her vision.

She stared when she recognized the skeletal visitor, distraught it wasn't Aster. She smoothed her face instantly.

"I would bow, but I'm afraid it's beyond my capacities, Your Honor."

"Half the top floor remains unlit. I can't have you dying just yet," Minister Blueblood said with a ghost of a smile. "Lift your head."

The young victor forced her neck muscles to tense. Her vision swam.

Her breath hitched as a needle pierced her jugular.

It was as if a hot wax flowed through her limbs. Her muscles solidified, her head cleared. She inhaled sharply, feeling as if her heart would burst out of her ribcage, struggling with each searing breath. But her strength was miraculously back.

Gasping, she finally pushed the covers away and stepped out of the bed.

"You've been unconscious fifty two hours. It is seven pm. The capsule contained toxic dyes and provoked acute hypo-tension. I couldn't give you this medicine until I was certain your heart wouldn't burst from the strain, hence needing you conscious."

Mercury nodded, her fingers absently trailing the small scar on her side. Her heart accelerated again, but not because of the aggressive medicine.

"Where is Batiste Calico?"

Every vestige of warmth fled the Minister of Justice's face. "In the next room, it seemed you had something to say about his punishment."

"He's no rebel, just a grieving child who lost the person his world revolved around." Mercury said tiredly, forcing any kind of insolence out of her tone.

"Which is why the mother and grandparents were the ones whipped for the boy's crime; their carelessness was inexcusable."

Mercury struggled to keep her voice to stay level. A disaster, and it was all her fault. "How many lashes?"

"Three clean lashes each."

Mercury exhaled. They should survive; it was a mild punishment for gross neglect. The young woman knew there was no compromising with the grim Capitolite on these matters. A sense of dread chilled her bones.

"How long has Batiste been here? Have you fed him?"

"He can survive a few days pondering his stupidity. We left him the toy penguin you brought back." Mercury's horror must have shown on her face. "The cell has facilities; he is only a child after all." Blueblood said in softer tones.

"I will see him."

"Get dressed first; I'll inform your escort the train will be leaving in two hours. The boy will not return to Eight, find what District he would be more suited to, we'll task the mayor with finding him a suitable family. Three and Eleven are not an option."

Mercury bowed her head, hiding her despair under a mask of deference. The worst was that she was keenly aware that Blueblood was doing her a favor. Batiste should have been publicly executed. "Very well. I appreciate you taking the matter in your hands."

The man's stern face softened. "Coriolanus can be a little overzealous. As you said, this is no act of rebellion. Only imbeciles like pretending the Districts enjoy the Games."

_There is a healthy supply of those. And intelligence without a heart like Blueblood's is little compensation._

Mercury dialed the code next to the cell's door. A small shape was curled up against the gray wall. A gaunt Batiste's eyes narrowed in hate as she stepped inside. The victor was relieved to see his spirit wasn't broken.

"Killing me wouldn't have brought her back."

"We needed her! You're an orphan, who needs _you_," the child spat. "_I_ need her." He added, pain twisting his face.

_But I was never selfless Batiste; I won for myself, not for Finder or even Aster, even if he has become my world. And now you must stop being a child and make the best of life despite fate's cruelty._

"Why are you making her death matter more than her whole life? She worked so hard to make you happy, she was strong. Now it's your turn to be. Life's unfair, but you can be strong." Mercury said with a rare vehemence, swallowing back her own tears.

"They'll execute me and Mum, and Satin will be all alone and it'll be my fault."

"No one's killing anyone, Batiste."

The child's anguished expression was replaced by tight resignation; relief was nevertheless obvious in his wet eyes.

"Then what's the punishment?"

"What is it!" Batiste repeated feverishly as Mercury failed to answer.

_How do you tell a child they're about to lose the family they have left? Is there any less awful way?_

"You're leaving, to a new family in the district of your choice, except Three or Eleven."

The frizzy haired boy stopped fidgeting, like a puppet whose strings had just been cut.

"I should be dead," he finally whispered, hugging his skinny frame, "I tried to kill a victor. That's worse than stabbing a peacekeeper. Why didn't you let them execute me?"

"Because I can survive without harming you," Mercury said bluntly, "you still can have a good life."

"She trusted you." Batiste said hollowly, accusation still burning in his sorrowful eyes.

"I'm so sorry."

Mercury slowly reached out to clasp the nine-year-old's hand in hers. "District Four is sunny and there are a lot of jobs to choose from. The sea is truly something, I'm told. People are less hungry than here."

"There are Careers in Four."

"There are victors in Eight too. Don't make your life about the Games, Batiste. You'll be able to write to your family."

She'd make sure of that. Blueblood had no reason to refuse.

"Okay, Four. I don't care. I'm very hungry."

Batiste didn't struggle when she lifted him in her arms. "Let's get you out of here."

"I hate you," he whispered.

"If that's what you need to be strong now and happy later, hate away."

As long as he was fine, Mercury found she didn't care.

"You should hate me. I almost assassinated you."

"I started it."

A hysterical chuckle escaped Batiste's full lips. "You did too," he choked, burying his face in her chest.

* * *

Aster gave her a strained smile when she finally stepped back on the train.

"The most esteemed Minister Blueblood _grounded_ me. It was considerate of him to inform Dante of your recovery." He said, gently grasping her shoulders.

"I'll try not to do this to you on a regular basis." Mercury weakly said, wrapping her arms around his neck. Her breath never failed to catch when his entrancing dark eyes pierced through her soul, as if he could consume her with the intensity of his stare.

"Indeed," he whispered, his fingers trailing lovingly down to the small of her back. She smiled, closing the distance between them.

An hour later, the couple joined Dante in the dining room, hands linked.

"What's the official line of news?"

"Aster didn't tell you? What have you two been doing?" Dante said, unabashedly faking surprise.

Mercury made a great show of walking over to the escort's lap and planting a noisy kiss on his rough cheek. "I'm fond of you too, don't you dare try to restrict my love life."

Dante arched his huge golden eyebrows. "I don't think that's physically possible. You can wait another half hour now, I'm starving."

Mercury had to admit she was too. They ate in companionable silence until the Dike took away their plates.

"I think the official version is very close to the truth," Dante began.

_Now that would be a first._

* * *

Seven was all that Eight was not: huge wood-processing mills delivered tons of wood chips into the air and birds of all types could be glimpsed at the edge of the thick forests. Miles of rich swampland that reeked of life, and tragically illness, finally gave way to clusters of small towns before the large wooden city where all the lumber was brought appeared on the horizon.

She stepped down the train, her nose assaulted by rich earthy scents. The cluster of Capitol Journalists pounced on her as soon as they were out of their own wagon, not having had the occasion to question her the night before. One of them had literally pounced. He crashed at her feet, having miscalculated his landing.

"You're going to embarrass the whole Capitol if you keep filming." Mercury said, restraining her glee as she pointed at the now moaning long-haired man. "I'll be answering no more than fifteen questions, which Perseus will ask me after my speech, either on today or the events in Eight. And before you complain, Perseus respects my personal space, that's why."

The young journalist looked as thrilled as the others seemed distraught, but for once, they actually listened and backed away. Mercury didn't linger to see Perseus assaulted by his colleagues who were now desperate to have their questions make it on the list. A quick glance told her one of the two camera crews had the sense to follow her.

She stepped up on the platform, causing chatter to die out. She turned to the mayor, careful not to divert her attention to the assembled crowd.

A childish shout shattered her resolve.

"Why isn't Yolo with you? It's a very long time now! When will the hovercraft bring him back?"

_Oh dear mercy. _

The little girl latched to a bewildered peacekeeper's leg could only be Shae. The five year old's guileless eyes were staring intently at her. A taller blonde girl swiftly elbowed her way through the crowd and snatched her back up, with the obvious intention of shutting the child up and bringing her back to her family.

Yolo's last words were engraved in her memory. "_Give this to Shae, winning would still be dying for me but in someplace worse. I'm not going anywhere bad. Just don't forget!"_

Mercury had jumped from the platform, almost out of instinct, and gestured at the peacekeeper not to interfere. The Capitol survived watching tributes die every year, they wouldn't grow a conscience from seeing the victor pay homage to the last casualty of the Games. The crude wooden whistle was in her hand. Peacekeepers were soon pushing people away from the victor and the two girls, securing a small perimeter.

"You're Dasheen?" Mercury asked, remembering the name from Yolo's interview.

"No, Liana." The twelve year old girl replied, a sullen stubborn cast to her face.

Mercury gently wrapped the child's small fingers around the whistle. "That's for you, Shae, I promised."

"Thanks. I still don't understand why he gave it to you," Shae muttered, more confused than upset,"and when is he coming back? I miss him. He was in second place. It's good, no?"

Mercury swallowed back her tears; a helpless smile graced her lips. "The Capitol keeps the losers. Yolo isn't unhappy even if I'm sure he misses you all as much as you do him. The rules of the Game are harsh, but he really wants you to be happy."

Liana seemed to be torn between fury and grudging gratefulness. "She's right, Shae," she finally said, her voice thick with emotion.

"So he's like a prisoner?"

A small laugh escaped Mercury's lips, the child had no measure of the irony of her words. "Nothing can chain Yolo," she said, staring at Liana.

A flash of understanding appeared in the younger girl's eyes. Her mouth dropped slightly in shock, as if she was wondering for the first time if her brother hadn't truly made the right choice.

Shae bobbed her head before blowing hard into the whistle.

Mercury brusquely turned away, her eyes on the ground as she walked back on stage. She hadn't wanted Liana to glimpse the nightmares that the rich sound awakened.

* * *

Drake had told her that his sister was an overworked young doctor who had promised to find cheer and friendship in her life despite her taxing job. It seemed to Mercury that Fibula Stanhope had kept her word: she was standing next to the mayor who had introduced her as his official fiancé. Mercury, while quite aware that the world didn't revolve around her, was confident that the poor man was being manipulated to an extent.

Fibula's presence was distracting, Mercury spoke faster than usual, wanting for the crowd to head for the banquet. It wasn't uncommon for the mayor to exchange a few words with her after the speeches.

Finally the crowd dispersed, leaving only her, Aster and Dante with the couple. Ever since she had had the brilliant idea to play favorites among the five Capitol journalists, they had been much better behaved. She had begun being nice to Lilith, if only to keep Perseus on his toes. Their new attitude amused her to no end and she took perverse pleasure in her new power over them.

After a few pleasantries, Mercury managed to persuade the mayor to let a very willing Fibula take a walk with her.

"Ignore them; they won't get nervous as long as we stay away from the crowds." Mercury said as Fibula warily eyed the score of peacekeepers flanking them.

"Do you love the mayor?"

A grin split Fibula's lips. "I do, but I'll never marry him." Her expression grew solemn again. "I don't blame you."

"I can see that, it's refreshing." Mercury said, her surprise unfeigned.

"Drake never quite lived on the same planet as the rest of us. He always found something to obsess over that shielded him from reality. I don't think you realize how much his feelings for you and the attention you paid to him helped him get through the Games." The twenty-one year old's mouth twisted in a pained smile. "I knew my brother was dead the moment his name was called. I never expected to see him laughing with you mere minutes before his death."

Mercury had prepared herself for a lot of reactions, from hate to compassion, but thanks weren't one of them. This time, she failed to control her tears. It was as if something toxic had melted inside her chest at the other's words, now finally washed away.

She'd been responsible for how Drake died but also for how he'd lived his last days. She was unreasonably moved by Fibula's understanding.

"You shouldn't have been surprised to see me. Your escort sorted out my being on stage."

Mercury blinked, wiping her tears with her sleeve. Another thing she owed Dante then. "He likes surprising me, I guess." She pulled the hover-magnet out of her dress. "Fustel gave him this, I don't know if it'll help him to have it back."

Fibula put her hand over the victor's. "You keep it and we'll both remember Drake and go on with our lives, doing things that would have made him happy for us. With the notable exception of your love life, but he'd still have gotten over it, I think."

Mercury chuckled weakly. It seemed Drake's cheekiness was a family trait.

"He'd be thrilled to see you joking with me, or just joking at all."

Fibula sighed. "I was always a little slow at sorting my life out…. I don't want to talk about it more, to be honest. It's still painful and there's little to say. But the good you did him outweighs the harm by a mile. If you mourn him, it should be about who he was, not about what you did or didn't do."

"I'll try." Mercury promised, clasping the older woman's hands. "Thank you."

The victor had to bite back an awed smile as she walked back to the train. She still had one non-trivial matter to deal with. She stifled an impish smiled as she walked up to the cluster of journalists chatting with their camera crews.

"Whose idea was it not to follow Fibula and I?" Mercury said, her icy tone leaving no doubt on her fury.

The Capitolites all squirmed under her hard gaze before singling out the now ashen Lilith.

"And what reason did that genius give?" she said, trying to stifle guffaws as, behind them, Aster cocked an eyebrow at her imitation of his cutting silken tones.

"I…I thought the feast would be more interesting than her talking to you about her brother." The woman stuttered, looking mortified.

Mercury's face broke into a radiant smile. She vowed to pay more attention to the over-jeweled redhead, just in case the journalist actually had some empathy.

"You lot are cowards. Lilith, your privileges are the same as Perseus' now. I value results more than sycophants. I know it might seem odd, but you, I and the Capitol will be happier if you understand that. Who knows, you might even get a raise."

She walked up to Aster. The man's eyes were dancing with mirth. "Wow, aren't you empowering yourself, Mercury."

"It's all about learning the rules." His lover proudly replied, capturing his lips in a lingering kiss.

* * *

The hardest Districts were done; Mercury now simply concentrated on playing her part.

A strong voice interrupted her towards the end of her, rather inane, speech.

"We all try, my husband was assassinated and I crippled by the Capitol because we were so presumptuous as to sponsor our son. "

Mercury was shocked to see Moxie Gleeb straighten in a wheelchair, a manic light on her once attractive face. The woman was gaunt, horrible burns twisting the right side of her body. She was too far and the crowd too compact for peacekeepers to restrain her. They would have to shoot her.

"Come on, kill me, peacekeepers! I don't have anything to live for anymore! Surely what you do off camera you can do on screen for the whole of Panem to see, even those heartless idiots in the Capitol who think the Games are about _honor_. I wish their children bloody deaths but only when the cherubs will have been changed into twisted killers. I'm sure the parents will laugh at the sight like they have at the deaths of hundreds of our innocent children."

Mercury grabbed the nearest peacekeeper's pistol and fired, figuring it would be the less painful outcome for the woman and, for the first time in her life, confident it was the right decision.

The wheelchair was slammed backwards by the force of the bullet. Moxie didn't even scream.

"Painkillers make people paranoid; they would have killed her painfully in a mere few days in such high doses. Bury the confused woman with her husband." Mercury frowned ostensibly at a shocked looking peacekeeper. "Oh please, the truth is obvious; you shouldn't let words confuse _you. _Time for the banquet, I believe," Mercury announced brightly.

Snow had to be so annoyed that Blueblood felt deeply in her debt. Except for a few wailing children, the crowd was still too shaken to do more than stare. An open revolt would have been a disaster, this suited her quite well.

She elegantly spun round and walked back to where Aster and Dante were waiting.

"Could you have missed?" Aster said, tension evident in his voice.

Mercury froze. "Those pistols have a fast lock-on system."

She exhaled, now a little appalled at the risk she'd taken. "Apparently the system also works."

"That was… _interesting_." The man said with a ghost of a smile, his hand gently rearranging Mercury's hair.

"_No._" An ashen Dante said, clutching his heart. "If something pulls a trick like this in Four, I'm shooting them myself."

"You truly believe that would be a constructive way to address the problem?"

"Shut up, Aster!" The escort growled, struggling to slow his ragged breathing down.

Four passed without an incident, to Dante's great relief. The only difference with the others Districts was the victors' attitude. With the understandable exception of old Thulis, they all voluntarily sought her out, to exchange a few words and share a drink before she left for Two. Maybe it was because they were numerous enough to form a small community and help each other, but Mercury also found them more at peace on the whole than the outlying district victors she had met. After what Aster had told her, she was especially interested to meet Mags. The white-haired woman had reminded her of a motherly and more patient version of Grace. She'd greeted Mercury by telling her that her shooting Moxie and her short speech afterwards had been the biggest laugh she'd had in a decade. Mercury had decided to accept the compliment for what it was and to stop denying her life was anything other than a succession of insane events.

Aster's voice cut through her musings.

"Should we be stopping here, Dante?" he said, alarm obvious on his tense features.


	52. Victory Tour: coming a full circle

_Previously on Showdown: _

_"Should we be stopping here, Dante?" Aster said, alarm obvious on his tense features._

They were at the edge of one of the outlying villages of the infamous Second District, some kind of mining outpost. Mercury had an inkling people here didn't all have as enviable lives as the rest of Panem was lead to believe.

The train was accelerating again before a confused-looking Dante had time to contact the driver.

A creak caught their attention. Mercury's head snapped to the sliding door.

"Hello, Mercury. Missed me?"

The young woman shut her eyes, forcing her heartbeat back under control. How sadistic did you have to be to _willingly_ sneak up on a victor?

The familiar muscled figure gifted her with a tight-lipped smile. "I figured I'd give you a heart attack by stopping the train and then enjoy the last of the ride with you."

Enobaria smirked at the scowling Aster. "She's in love with _you_; why so surprised she would like _me_?"

"Guys, give us some girl time here." Mercury intervened before the two could start locking horns. She turned to the lingering Avox. "You're male, Dike, shoo."

She grinned at Enobaria, having to admit that she was happy to see her. "Wouldn't have been fun to do it the normal way…."

The Career let herself fall in one of the plush armchairs and crossed her long legs with a disdainful expression."I don't share. I'd have to bite all the curious other victors to have some time with you and then have to put up with their whining. This is undeniably more fun."

"I'm sure you scare the hell out of them."

"Oh I do."

"Then why so nice to me?"

The older victor sighed, all trace of smugness vanishing from her face. "They're _all_ terrified of me; it gets annoying sometimes."

"All those hardened Careers?" Mercury said, now a little disheartened.

"We're not good at personal stuff, get angry easily and all. You take things well."

Mercury grinned cheekily. "Ah, the alpha issues, I get it now. I don't try to prove I'm stronger than you and you don't feel the need to assert your superiority, so it can actually work between us."

"I love that we have the same conception of girl talk." Enobaria said with a small smile. "And don't worry; I do have a few non-victor friends."

"Good for you. I kicked my few friends out of my life; gently…." Mercury said, exaggerating because of the cameras. But the distance she'd had to take with Finder still hurt.

Enobaria shook her head, as if Mercury was a small child testing her patience. "_My friends_ worship our protectors."

_Did Enobaria?_

"Cultural difference." Mercury replied tightly. "Now how's life? I'm sure with thirteen victors living together you have a whole culture. What about your involvement in the arenas and all the training? It must determine the whole social structure of the District."

"Did you know that when you turn your feelings off and switch on to analytical mode your face changes? It's very peculiar."

Mercury winced, hoping few were as observant as Enobaria. But if she approached training like the sacrificial rituals of long extinct civilizations, it did remain a fascinating concept. She wondered if she'd have turned out like the Career had she been born in Two.

"I've decided to make sure the volunteers deserve the honor of competing," Enobaria said, a solemn cast to her features. "Character should not be dismissed, we judge a little too much on appearance and ability with weapons."

Another frown marred Mercury's brow. Did Enobaria just say she would make sure gifted Careers who deserved to live would be kept out of the Games or did she truly believe a new approach to training in Two was necessary?

"Would you have chosen yourself," she asked carefully.

Enobaria flashed her a genuine toothy grin, making Mercury blink in surprise. "Of course," she said, her hazel eyes surprisingly warm.

Not a second's hesitation. No way was Enobaria _that_ thrilled to be a victor. It seemed they were both acquainted with the art of hidden meanings.

Mercury grinned back, almost sighing in relief. "I'm very happy to hear you say that."

"Clever girl, I don't want to fight you on allegiance semantics," Enobaria said, appreciation obvious on her tanned features.

The younger victor dissolved into irrepressible howls of laughter as her nerves finally gave out.

Was this the type of conversations she would forever have with anyone from another District? Convoluted with double meanings? The masks never truly falling off and unadulterated truth a scarcer commodity than unpolluted water in Eight?

Enobaria rolled her eyes at Mercury's undignified display of mirth. "While females do generally giggle together, I'd still prefer to hear what you think of Two's training system. Intellectually that is; I don't care about the whole 'stop perverting children' rationale."

"I never implied you were a pervert." Mercury said innocently, struggling to keep her hysterical laughter at bay.

"Want to hear it or not? And careful, you shooting that woman in Five was the first sign of insanity. Don't let the Tour screw too much with you."

Mercury pursed her lips. She'd never have shot Moxie Gleeb had she been in her right mind. She felt fine, but maybe stress was indeed making her unhinged.

"Oh I certainly want to hear it. Just let me tell Aster. He'll feel better if I assure him your motives are pure."

"Maybe I do secretly want to kiss you." Enobaria said, suggestively wagging her eyebrows.

"I don't kiss unless I've know the person for at least six years."

Enobaria snorted; a shadow then entered her eyes. She stood up, her hand coming to rest on Mercury's shoulder. "Truly?"

"I'm on tenure, Tiger." Mercury said, touched by the other's solicitude, "Didn't you watch my talent-show? Minister Blueblood pays his debts. I got him out of a bullet's path."

She decided not to mention that pathetic night with Odysseus. Some things were best forgotten.

An awed smile bloomed on the Career's full lips. "I did watch the show. Music with lightning that will electrocute to death anyone who bugs you too much about building more devices than you intend to. I love the concept. Didn't know you'd saved the life of a high-ranking Capitolite with a sense of honor though. Your luck is unbelievable."

"I know." Mercury said with a sigh. "Unfortunately, I know."

* * *

Maybe Enobaria's presence had sharpened her senses, or maybe the oppressive martial atmosphere wasn't tangible from behind a TV screen, but the Imperial Square of District Two didn't match her memories. She noticed for the first time that the children and teens standing behind the assembled victors all had a black scarf around their left forearms. They all had a similar air of solemnity and discipline to them, especially the older ones. They kept their eyes riveted on her, as if frozen in a grudging military salute. Even the cold drizzle failed to faze them.

The Careers in training. Some couldn't be older than eight. There were hundreds of them.

Mercury shuddered, wondering how anyone who ranked lower than tenth in their training class could sacrifice their childhood and submit to such terrible conditioning for naught. She shuddered again when she placed the nagging sense of recognition that hadn't left her since her eyes had landed on those grave youngsters. It was the same air some of the peacekeepers in Three had about them. An air that could be the mark of irreproachable cool professionalism but could also conceal a terrible thirst for blood.

These were the kennels of the fortress city, here the guard dogs were bred and trained. Here the Capitol was their _protectors_ and not their cruel overlords.

A ninety-foot high jagged steel wall separated Districts Two and Three; Mercury had never quite seen it as a barrier between two antithetic worlds.

A single, ringing cheer greeted her as she acknowledged the crowd. It sounded admiring and true, which mystified Mercury beyond reason.

"How many amongst you have toiled your entire youth in the tenuous hope of standing where I stand today," she softly began, hard pressed to keep the sadness out of her voice. "How do you explain that I won while Corsair and Aurora didn't? What makes me better than them? What makes _you_ better than them? How can you know, when you step on this very platform in the years to come, that you will be better than the handsome Career with the eleven in training that shrugged off a poison that would've killed an adult man? I cannot claim to understand you, yet we can boast of knowing many things in District Three."

Mercury's voice was bereft of any trace of mockery, a mere whisper that echoed on the stone walls of the huge plaza. She forgot the cameras and the crowd, almost speaking to herself; voicing doubts buried so deep that she had never before sought to formulate into words.

"Why was the very best of Two defeated by the random pick of other Districts?"

The victor let her question hang, lost in thoughts.

_Logic and feelings should never mix._ Corsair had told her in the Capitol. _Careers don't do metaphysics and you're purposefully trying to give me a headache._

She wondered how many of these now red-faced but stubbornly silent children were already emotionally crippled beyond repair. Yet Corsair hadn't seemed so damaged after all, he'd even been decent in his way. And Armagnac had been kind.

Ostentatious where Two was austere, District One hadn't any more answers to offer.

"I think I'm allergic to frivolity, all these red carpets make me want to kill someone."

"How do you even survive in the Capitol? And why are you still here?"

"There is a dueling competition held in the Capitol the day after you leave for Three. The eight finalists will have the privilege of sparring with me. Victor's duties. You don't mind me hitchhiking do you?"

"Depends whether you plan to spike Dante's cocktail again." Mercury said dryly, keeping an eye on her journalists, who had wisely elected to pester the resident victors instead of her.

Enobaria smirked. "You wanted me to find common ground with your beau, I did. And the old man had nothing to be ashamed of, his voice is solid and the ballads he sung deliciously bawdy."

"He was half naked, on the table, miming the fencing with a chair and a pillow."

"He knows how to bring songs to life."

Enobaria ducked her head to conceal her laughter as Mercury's glare darkened. Mercury had forbidden the other two to say a word, but she hadn't counted on Dante ordering the Avoxes to write it down. Apparently Oscen's sense of humor was closer to Enobaria's than her own. The escort was so mortified he'd not met their eyes since the incident. This reminded her that she was also waiting for him to come out of the Justice Building to finally talk to him.

"Come on, it was brilliant." The Career said between snickers.

"Not when he feels so humiliated." Mercury's lips twitched at the other girl's pointed incredulous stare. "I'll probably find it hysterical once he gets over it. "

But who knew who else had laughed that night? Dante knew the train was bugged, it had been utterly unnecessary. Despite her highly inebriated state –Enobaria's cocktails were unethically good- she remembered the vengeful gloating in Aster's eyes as he drank in the sight of the Capitolite stripped of his self-control. Mercury knew that her lover had woken up ashamed, but also that his hate for anything Capitol ran too deep to let him treat Dante as more than a grudgingly esteemed colleague. A colleague who he would never associate with were he not forced to.

She lifted her eyes skywards, not wanting to dampen Enobaria's good spirits. "Either way, the subject's closed. What should I be expecting in the Capitol?"

The Capitol part was not broadcasted in the Districts. Not under President Zephyr at least.

"Caesar will be hosting but it won't be as dull as a regular interview. With Blueblood owning your ass, you shouldn't have to worry. It's just another freak show."

* * *

Mercury grabbed Dante before he could step onto the train.

"Yes?" the white haired escort frostily said.

"I am sorry. I shouldn't have gotten so drunk as to let it go so far."

The man shrugged her hand away, not making eye contact.

"Don't be a hypocrite," Mercury said, "if I can appreciate you considering your job is tantamount to being a festive Charon, you can get over one prank. You saw me dressed as a whore and I never once made an issue of it. And if you don't act like it's a big deal, whoever is on the other side of the bugs won't think to blackmail you with it."

Mercury wasn't sure if Dante's pained expression was due to being compared to the fabled ferryman of the dead or to the prospect of blackmail. He sighed, the tension not leaving his face.

"You sing well and those songs were frankly hysterical." Mercury gently added. "I guess with so much free time, there is some good creativity in the Capitol."

"I have passed the age where I can act like a fool and keep my pride."

"You live in the Capitol and you're objectively proud, so don't be absurd."

Dante bristled at Mercury's disparaging comment, his lips parting with shock, but the girl could see his anger melting away.

"I don't want a single word from Enobaria or Aster this evening."

"I promise." She said, gently squeezing the man's arm.

Dante chuckled as she made to step up on the train, causing her to turn.

"Your speech in District Two struck a chord in the lower Districts. I heard District Nine's law enforcement was at a loss when the assembled citizens dissolved into irrepressible gales of laughter when you shattered the all-powerful image of the Careers. There was no incident."

Mercury arched her eyebrows, a ghost of a smile on her lips. "Who knows what peasants find humorous…."

She hadn't meant it as such, but was glad some people had found hope in her words.

What was even more interesting was that Dante seemed to have a network of informants of his own.

* * *

"Done, you're perfect." Crassus said, a small smug smile lighting his pudgy face.

Mercury eyed her reflection suspiciously. She was clad in a tight fitting but rather classic minidress of a glossy white color and had neither shoes nor accessories. Her long ebony locks had been streaked with an odd silver substance but otherwise let loose. The same substance coated her bare arms and legs in elaborate whirling patterns and gave her huge carnival worthy eyes. Her wolf tattoo seemed to shimmer under the artificial light.  
She looked almost too stylized to be desirable, which struck her as peculiar considering the Capitol's tastes.

The door slammed open, missing her stylist by an inch. Caesar waved her prep team away without even glancing at the petrified Crassus.

"This is going to be extraordinary," the host exclaimed, drawing the words out like a child bursting from excitement, "and I need your cooperation."

"Of course, Caesar, how considerate of you to even ask." Mercury sweetly said. She'd almost forgotten how grating being in the Capitol could be.

Caesar flashed her a dazzling smile. "Being polite doesn't cost me, does it?"

Mercury noticed his hair was coated with the same dye as hers. She frowned. "What's the theme tonight?"

"The person who bought the spiders wasn't capable of handling them. So they've been mine for a while and I couldn't just get rid of them without giving them a chance to shine. As you've doubtless noticed, you're designed to shine under neon projectors."

Mercury hadn't noticed. She blinked, trying to keep any of her apprehension from showing. "Ultraviolet lighting, giant mutt spiders _and_…?"

"A festive opening speech, loud music, and you dancing in a cage with the spiders!"

Oddly, she couldn't find it in her to mirror Caesar's grin. "I hope you mean in a cage that's in a larger cage in which the spiders are, but cleverly done so that it looks like we're all in the same cage."

"Absolutely. But towards the end you'll have to kill the spiders with bladed gloves. They'll be drugged to avoid an accident but they will probably thrash from the pain. You will be shown how to make the best of the poles."

_Kill the mutts? Poles?_

Mercury blinked again, unable to make sense of what she was hearing.

"Can Aster at least stand by with a gun just in case? I'm sure they'll love it if he dashes in to rescue me."

The victor realized she had made a huge mistake when Caesar's eyes lit up.

"Of course! You will pretend to lose against the last mutt, lie there helpless, fragile as a flower, and you lover will come in and rescue you. Brilliant! Absolutely _brilliant_!"

Caesar clapped his hands together. "I'll go make preparations," he said before exiting again.

Mercury sighed, mentally cursing herself for not having kept her mouth shut.

Aster's eyebrows disappeared above his hairline when he entered the prep-room.

"Is this some fantasy role play event? You look…interesting."

_Always the smooth talker._

"We're going clubbing tonight." Mercury brightly said.

"Is he out of his mind?" Aster exclaimed after she'd told him Caesar's plans. He eyed the chemicals on her body warily, as if mentally preparing himself to suffer the same fate.

"But it's brilliant. _Absolutely brilliant!"_ Mercury imitated. "Come on, it's not broadcasted, we'll survive.""

"Enobaria will be thrilled." Aster said somberly. A thoughtful frown creased his forehead. "Did you suggest she dismember a mutt too? I'm sure the entertainment value would be very high."

It had gone far enough already. "Leave her out of this; it could be worse."

Aster hissed. "_Clubbing_. I hate them." His expression slowly grew sly. "Although you will be taught how to pole dance for the event._ Interesting_."

A thin flirtatious smile drew itself on Mercury's lips. "Maybe, if you behave."

_So that's what the poles were for! Figures..._

* * *

The train's gentle rocking was interfering with Mercury's wish to remain awake.

"Wasn't last night fun?"

"Shut up, Dante." Aster and Mercury snapped in tandem.

"Haven't you learned to have fun even in unfortunate situations by now?"

"Considering the fuss you made three days ago for having being forced into a situation beyond your control, you would be wise to keep silent." Aster silkily said, a small threatening smile on his face.

Dante's jaw tensed. "_Touché_." He then grinned helplessly. "You still sparkle, Mercury."

"What can I say, the neon paint loves me," the victor replied, sarcasm lacing her voice. "Enobaria theorized that it's the same one used for the permanent skin alterations, just a lower dose of it."

Mercury had said goodbye to the other victor in the early morning. She'd been amused at how better inclined Enobaria was to display her sharp golden teeth now that she was amidst her_ beloved_ protectors.

A huge yawn threatened to dislocate Mercury's jawbone. "Aren't you tired, Dante? You were there until the very end."

_And you're ancient _was heavily implied.

Dante straightened haughtily. "Grab a couple of hours' rest. Don't get distracted by each other. I'll wake you at eleven."

Mercury almost felt like a new person after she'd taken another shower. Her mood had significantly improved despite the chip of spider claw she'd pulled out of her wet hair. Caesar Flickerman and his _brilliant _ideas….

"Don't give way to the temptation of being flippant on your last speech." Aster warned mildly as the Spires appeared outside the window through the hammering rain.

"No 'Hi, I didn't kill Algor and I got you extra food so please cheer a bit louder?' Pity, I had rehearsed in front of the mirror and everything." Mercury said with a forlorn expression.

Aster planted a noisy kiss on her forehead, tightening his hold around her shoulders. "I'm serious, don't. We're home after this."

"I promise not to do anything stupid," Mercury said with a fond smile.

"Surprisingly many do."

"Aster,_ I_ won't," the young woman replied, her head nestled on his shoulder.

Few people were smiling, but the cheer she received in Three overrode the rain's clamor as the five thousand assembled people unanimously clapped their hands, as if seeing her in a new light.

She didn't even have a chance to speak; Mayor Rheid gently took her hand and lead her to the covered banquet as the crowd split to let them pass.

"You've talked more than enough over the last days. Thank goodness for that break that kid in Eight gave us, we just couldn't stand it anymore."

Mercury turned towards the source of the mocking whisper, a smile on her lips. "Was I that unsubtle, Finder?"

Finder grabbed her shoulders, beaming like a proud father. "The subtext was worth the ridiculous interviews. The fact that hardly any in the crowds got it was hysterical. You're unabashedly insolent because you know they'll all take you at face value anyway. You can't fool your own District. Was the Capitol bearable?"

Mercury grinned despite the little voice telling her that Snow would doubtless have heard the subtext too. Another, a vindictive, prouder voice, pushed it down, reminding her that she had earned the privilege to take some liberties with the Capitol.

"Neon lights, pounding music, the mutt spiders from my Chariot rides, pole dancing in a large cage and a showy man vs beast finale where Aster rescued me from the clutches of the last drugged mutt." A wry smile split her lips. "So nothing _too_ crazy."

Finder let loose an incredulous chuckle. "Damn! Why don't they broadcast _that_?" He pulled her in a tight hug. "Anyhow, welcome home, Mercury."

Lightning briefly illuminated the gloomy spires, flashing ominously against the dark clouds. For a brief shining moment, everything felt solid, durable, untouchable. Mercury breathed in deeply, savoring the familiar scents that permeated the electrified air.

The sense of unease that had plagued her for months as she walked in the Web was gone. This is where she belonged. She was truly home at last.

* * *

**AN: Questions time^^**

**What did you think of the reactions in the different districts?**

**What did you think of Enobaria?**

**Any other general comments on my portrayal of Districts and Mercury's attitude?  
**


	53. In wait of a spark

**To the "Anonymous Chat" duo (and ETNRL4L because this is your fault^^), how did this all end with you people psycho-analyzing me? lol. Thank you (I'm having great fun reading your reviews), and all the other people who reviewed the last chapter.**

**This chapter covers ten years in six defining moments. If you find yourself craving for an unwritten scene, please mention it in a review.**

* * *

**Games 64**

Forewarned is forearmed, but the Games were meant to shatter the Districts' strength and mentors were on the front line. Strict timetables Mercury could follow and lies she could weave with a smile, but the victor couldn't accept the deaths of those unfortunate children as inevitable tragedy. Poor Dante had taken the habit of carrying handkerchiefs whenever he visited her alone in the evenings.

She'd managed to keep a pleasant and professional attitude during all the pre-arena drama, which was simply a flattering euphemism for acting distant and cold, but Mercury had found it a better alternative than breaking up in the arms of the girl she was supposed to mentor. At least Pixelle had listened to her advice. For all the good it had done her.

The district One tribute had been an oddity: an energetic fifteen year old. He'd seemed a bit dotty, always muttering to himself. An eight in training despite all his cockiness, nothing remarkable. He was the only Career to survive the bloodbath, having defied every unspoken rule by turning on his unsuspecting allies before they were even out of the Cornucopia. Nothing had fazed him. He'd single-handedly ended the Games in four days, scoring nineteen kills, a record for his District.

Who was Draupnir, beneath the angle and the thirst for survival and glory? Beneath the training and relentlessness? Mercury now understood why the others had been so distant at first. All the victors treaded on thin ice with the Capitol, even more now that Snow was on a crusade against potential rebels. Winning the Games didn't make one trustworthy in the other victors' eyes.

Pixelle had been sixteen, a very diffident girl, rather uneducated by Three's standards. She'd run away from home for years, because her parents just 'didn't understand her'. She'd been loud and hardworking, moody and passionate, street-smart and glib. Mercury had tried.

And failed.

Had she _truly_ tried?

The black-haired young woman sighed, walking up to Volts who was immersed in transistor models.

She paused to stare at his large glasses, as she often did of late. It would cost Volts nothing to get his eyes fixed. It struck her as oddly endearing that he would choose this particular sign to distance himself from the Capitol and their artificial perfection.

"Did I try," she finally asked. She'd stopped being wary of interrupting him; Volts had to be the most patient man she knew. He lifted his hooded eyes to hers.

"We put our own sanity first, always. Getting attached won't significantly affect their odds and it will shatter you. You're a brilliant actress, Pixelle never suspected that you doubted her chances. You obtained more sponsors than I had expected."

_Especially since I refused to do more than talk to any of them. But thanks, I think._

She'd rather think that she hadn't tried: in a perverse way it let her hope that if she truly wanted to save a particular tribute she wouldn't be condemned to see them die.

A pixie cut of the darkest brown, nails bitten to the bone, narrowed almond eyes, a hand purposefully set on a skinny hip and a diffident voice that was surprisingly deep for such a wisp of a girl. Pixelle's image was painfully clear in Mercury's mind.

"Do they blur, over time?"

"They do eventually, but the feelings won't."

Mercury pressed her forehead against the cool window. She was glad Aster hadn't insisted to come despite the void his absence caused. She didn't want their relationship tainted by the foul Capitol atmosphere. It was Volts' turn again, since the times he came with Wiress as a 'volunteer' didn't count. Besides, some days she was such a wreck that she was glad her lover was spared the sorry sight.

She could've obtained Pixelle medicine had she accepted Lupus' disgusting offer. She had refused. Medicine would have delayed the girl's death, not granted her victory.

_How could you possibly tell?_ The pesky voice in her mind asked.

"Did you sleep with anyone, to sponsor me?" She asked Volts, no amount of make-up able to mask her wariness.

The bespectacled victor smiled mirthlessly. "No. Victors reveal themselves. Whenever you feel like damning yourself to save a sweet tribute, just remember exactly what's in store for them after the Games. Your job is to make these children's last days bearable. Don't expect to save them. Just lie well."

Mercury let herself fall in an armchair. Never had she heard the aging man so cynical.

Ever day, she woke up thinking she knew, at least intellectually, what the day would bring. Every day she felt like she aged ten years. A sarcastic smile drew itself on her tired face. She didn't look so bad at all for someone was pushing a hundred and twenty.

She wasn't so much in fashion anymore. The green, blue and red wigs had left place to a sea of gold, bronze and silver and she had been downgraded from cool to a mere piece of the victor landscape. Her 'deal' with Blueblood protected her from those who still hoped for spoils. Compared to the lingering guilt, the constant fear of displeasing the President, the heaviness in her chest at the thought of Pixelle and the perfectionist Orion, her spurned suitors' petty attempts at intimidation were laughable.

A familiar voice brought her back to reality. "How are the dorks going?"

"Knock before entering, Enobaria. I could've been having wild sex on the table to forget my two late district co-inhabitants' death."

The older victor grinned at Volts' pointed cough. The man was flushed from sudden embarrassment.

"Getting drunk works too. Want a glass? Brutus is grating on my nerves, cursing District One every bloody minute of the day for having spawned three victors in half a decade. Besides," Enobaria added with a smirk, "if you're frustrated by the lack of willing older men around, I can find you some quite easily."

"Just a couple of drinks, Tiger." Mercury granted. At least she could count on Enobaria to be more lively than the routinely depressed other mentors. Games' end was a terrible period to socialize, with everyone wondering why they kept on living. If they were lucid enough to think that was.

The picture of Zephyranth laughing on a horse, a seven year old in her arms, gave her the strength she needed to keep sober until the end.

* * *

**Games 65**

"You're gaping like a fool." Aster accused, sitting stiffly on the padded Coliseum bench.

"He's in so much trouble," his wide-eyed lover mouthed.

Finnick Odair, despite being only fourteen, was attractive. Much too attractive.

The bronze haired tribute from Four was what artists attempted to depict when they thought of beauty and failed at, let down by their limited imaginations. He was like the sun, so resplendent that even the brightest stars vanished in his presence.

He had won the Games by the time the Chariot rides were over.

Mercury's eyes filled with tears. How she could possibly brighten her own ward's last days after this? She slowly straightened, clasping Aster's hand, aware his forbidding demeanor did not lessen his torment. The man found it easier not to bond with the tributes, but herding a stranger instead of an acquaintance to death barely lessened the sordidness of their predicament.

Indeed, the rest was a mere unpleasant formality. Outrageous sponsor gifts followed lucky coincidences. To Finnick's considerable skills was combined the cooperation of the arena. Seneca Crane was smooth about it, but the end was predictable: what the Capitol wanted the Capitol got.

"Don't."

Mercury's eyes shot up to Aster. Enobaria had helped her to cope when she'd woken up. Finnick was so young and not exactly a Career in spirit. She'd wanted to repay the service.

"He'll be the Capitol's favorite for a long while, Mercury." The man elaborated, dark shadows clouding his expression.

_Stay away from the cameras; they'll be all turned to Finnick now. Don't give Snow any incentive to ruin your life further._

Mags was a kind and strong woman. Mags would help him.

Mercury inwardly wept for Finnick Odair.

Aster protectively cradled the twenty year old in his arms, a fierce light in his dark eyes, as if he could scare all her demons away.

* * *

**Games 71**

Johanna Mason.

The first non-Career to win since Mercury. Wader from Six didn't really count. He'd docilely let the Hovercraft pick him up and then somehow taken control of the machine and crashed it in the Capitol.

It had all happened in less than fifteen minutes. Cassandra Choire had died, along with seven other Capitolites. Another Gamemaker had been crippled, Antonio something, a good acquaintance of Dante's. The two replacements were Plutarch Heavensbee and Laocoon Choire, a nephew. Probably two doormats who'd been carefully selected by Snow.

Despite Snow denying District Six the customary banquet after this, year 69 raised a greater cheer in the Districts than any Games had in decades.

Daphne and Nerval had paid for the 'accident' with their lives. Through another _accident _of course, in another exploded hovercraft. Snow had sent a squad of peacekeepers in Six to monitor the production, blaming it all on laziness and faulty machinery. The Capitol had mourned both poor Wader and the older victors and predictably cursed District Six's sloppiness. Only two gray-haired addicts now remained to wear the transport district's crest.

Mercury remembered the speech Snow had given her on forest fires the first time he'd summoned her. Wader had been a spark that hadn't made a fire. Nothing had changed. If anything it was worse. She hoped Snow would overdo it, make the increasing oppression so unbearable people would rebel openly, massively, but it was only wishful thinking.

So it all came back to Johanna Mason, who'd laid low before revealing how determined and strong she could be towards the end of the Games, stunning both the Capitol and the Districts. And this time, Aster didn't object to Mercury going to see her despite a pointed resigned glare.

"Hello." She said, keeping her voice neutral as she walked uninvited in the room where the younger girl lay resting.

"I'm supposed to know you, right?"

"Mercury, 63rd Games, District 3."

"Delighted," the girl said. "Why are you here? Blight is making a huge deal about me resting more."

There was an unmistakable edge to her voice.

District Seven tended to produce more outspoken people than the other regions and Johanna seemed no exception to the rule. Mercury decided that while she'd failed to get another one of her girls home, she'd help Johanna out as much as she could.

"He should. But getting your thoughts together is more important. Remember you are in the Capitol, just like before. They want interviews and compliments."

Johanna seemed torn between snorting, sighting and burying her head in her pillow.

"They'll eat up anything anyway now." She whispered.

"The Capitol doesn't run itself. There are driven people who keep it going as it is and know what they're doing."

Johanna frowned. "What are you talking about and why are you here anyway?"

"You've only seen the people that were close to you. They feel for you, they've stopped preparing you because they hate to ruin whatever feeling of relief you're feeling now. Being a victor doesn't give you the right to take any liberties with the Capitol."

Johanna's face twisted in disgust. "Relief?"

She took a deep calming breath. "Blight already told me sponsors are annoyed they lost money because they thought I was a wimp." She said sharply, obviously fed up.

Mercury was at a loss of how to be clearer without getting Finder or Grace killed.

"You were a wimp." She slowly said. "You found your courage when you remembered how much an honor winning was and how all your dreams would come true if you won. You never pretended."

Johanna's jaw dropped slightly. "Is part of the pay coming up with such crap?"

Mercury lowered her eyes in sadness and frustration, remembering when she'd been in such a situation. She'd been so much more prepared and yet she remembered the weariness, the wish to believe it was all over, the wish to be herself once more.

"Don't learn the hard way." She begged Johanna, wringing her hands.

"They made me win this, what can they do more?" the girl shot back bitterly.

A sharp knock put an abrupt end to their conversation.

"Mercury, follow me."

The victor stood frozen as Snow's small frame blocked the doorway. The old man had a frightening expression in his eyes.

Somehow she found the will to move. He led her into a small room.

"Mercury, humor me, what would you say if you wanted to be insolent now?"

Mercury's jaw tightened in fear. _What the hell?_

Her mind whirling, she colored her face with wide-eyed awe. "Mr. President, what an honor for you to come and get me directly so far from your office!"

"And that's why even I don't feel the need to torment you or your victor friends from Three too much, Girl. You know the rules. It saves me time. I don't care what you truly think because your kind doesn't act. Johanna's does. I won't have her lying to me."

Snow's eyes turned ice-cold. "And I most certainly won't have you helping her to. If I see you talk to her again this year, I'll buy you myself. "

"Crystal clear, Mr. President." Mercury whispered, not meeting his eyes. She was standing between him and the door; it would be so easy to snap the man's neck. She'd probably pay for it with her life but the new President would certainly be more humane.

_Certainly. Or not so much._ Snow was right, her kind didn't act. Bile burned her throat.

"Mercury?" Aster's voice betrayed his concern as she returned to their quarters.

"It's no fun if Johanna is told to behave; Snow personally came to deliver the message."

Aster's eyes grew hooded. "Hug?" he said after a pause.

Mercury's lips twitched as her arms went around the man's thin frame.

_The road to hell is paved with good intentions_. She hoped Johanna would be wise enough not to anger Snow.

* * *

**Games 72**

Next year she would be her tenth as a victor; next year Wiress would finally mentor again. Mercury let the thought soothe her as she led the couple of twelve year olds in the train, her face blank as she steadied them.

A couple of _twelve year olds_, one of them Volts' great niece. The sixth time in eight years that a victor's relative had been reaped. It was a new fashion, legacy tributes.

Eight. The oldest of Cecelia's three children was just eight, Mercury reminded herself, her eyes pools of ice as an ashen Volts crushed her hand for support. Anyone with a shred of motherly instinct would be attracted to the shy woman like moths to firelight. Yet, fragile as she seemed, only she had willingly given birth to a child among the younger generation of non-Career victors. Mercury wondered if she would one day be able to fearlessly conceive a child of her own and why Snow had spared her the terrible chore of reproducing for the Capitol's entertainment.

There were more discrete statistical oddities: richer children, the friend of a victor, one child from the orphanage the year she'd made it clear she'd not disrobe to obtain sponsors, loud mouthed youths, people who had too good contacts with peacekeepers…. Like that crafty little boy by her side who'd been getting them electronic goods at lower prices.

Snow's meddling, it had to be. The Capitol loved their legacy tributes so. Even Dante, always his theatric self, shook his head in pained disbelief as soon as the children were out of sight.

Of all these too conveniently reaped tributes, only Finnick's childhood sweetheart and now fiancée, Annie, had survived. Mercury doubted that the arena would ever had been flooded had Annie not been so obviously traumatized. Killing victors was one of the few things Snow was reluctant to do, but a tale of 'poor, confused Annie's suicide' would be believed by the Capitol, something Finnick knew very well. It made the bronze-haired Adonis wary of using his status of 'most popular victor ever' to try anything Snow might disapprove of.

Mercury couldn't help feeling uneasy around Finnick. He had a lover's smile for each of his entranced clients and had made a shield of his glorious body, a shield to save his kin. But it had become more than just providing sex when he was bought. With each passing year, his every step, his every glance, was that of a charmer. The Capitol had rewrought him, perfected him to their tastes. Finnick was luminous, caring and clever, but he was not from the Districts anymore. Only when he turned his gaze on Annie did a glimpse of the seas returned to dance in his seducing green eyes.

Johanna opened the door of Three's train compartment, taking rapid strides. She then stopped before Mercury, her face a blank mask.

It was the first time the two victors met since the previous year.

Johanna's hand collided with Mercury's cheek. Hard.

"Missed you too." A shocked Mercury said, raising a hand to her cheek. At least the tributes were in the other room.

"You could've been clearer!" Johanna hissed, her brown eyes windows to the torments of hell.

"You know that's not true." Mercury replied in soft tones, her body stiff with stress, begging to retaliate against the threatening younger victor.

A second ringing slap connected with her reddening cheek.

Mercury felt a perverse pride in realizing that she was not the traumatized girl who had risked strangling Finder when he'd unexpectedly grasped her chin anymore. If some wounds could slowly heal, maybe she would one day be free of the anxiety constantly clawing at her heart.

She grimly hoped that in time Johanna would understand what an edge her affective independence gave her instead of falling into depression or addiction.

_So many lives destroyed._

"Ladies, please!" Dante exclaimed, looking appalled.

With a snarl, Johanna launched herself on the old Capitolite.

Mercury had her on the train's floor before the other victor could injure him, or herself.

Her voice was harsher than she had intended. "You're angry at me because it's easy. I don't care how you cope but don't take it out on him."

"Get off!"

Mercury allowed a scowling Johanna up. She could almost hear the young woman making a mental vow to learn hand-to-hand combat techniques.

"I don't want to be here! Luckily my tribute is such a pain that I'm hesitating to throttle her myself."

The mix of sarcasm and pain made Mercury wince in sympathy. She felt even more at a loss when Johanna started crying in her arms.

"Get Finnick." Mercury mouthed to Dante. The handsome tribute had been the only one who had seemed to really get through to Johanna the year before.

The white-haired escort hurried away.

"You're strong, you won't let them win, ever." She whispered into the girl's ear.

There was a frightening hardness to Johanna's promise. "Ever."

It was the last time she saw Johanna cry without drugs. Snow had gone too far, he had no leverage left over the cornered animal he had created.

Alone again, Mercury stared out of the window.

"That's not what the ads try to sell us."

Mercury cocked an eyebrow at the talking plush armed-chair. There was a suspicious bump under the cushion now that she paid attention.

"Talos?" She guessed, feeling suddenly weary.

The cushion popped out to reveal the short twelve-year old. With a muscled frame and tan skin, the clever lad came from a family of factory workers and was studying his way to the top. _Had been._

"You little monkey!" she said with a forced grin, hiding her sadness.

Something about him reminded her of Drake. Her eyes were far away as she made him sit next to her.

"I want to have fun." He said, serious as an imp-faced child could be. "She didn't look like she was having fun at all, and she's a victor."

Mercury paused.

"Well… don't annoy the Capitol. But otherwise, having fun might be the wisest course to take."

"Sure, it's not like I have many talents anyway." He said, not looking so upset at the thought.

He'd maybe even have some 'fun'. He was too young to know what it meant to let yourself die when you had the choice between that and a half-damned life. There was a huge difference between those under fifteen and the older tributes. The former were much more adaptable and cheerful as a rule, they took it in stride and felt invincible, at least in the beginning.

And Mercury would have to let him.

Her insides churned, no matter the sense of déjà-vu that accompanied her each year.

"Please get me Dante and come back in an hour; I have calls to make to the Capitol," she lied. "Cheer up Kismet if you can."

It wouldn't be the last time the twenty-seven year old wept in the old escort's arms.

Talos' family was interviewed. Mercury sent him an extra blanked, a pike and a balm against cramps, all while making sure Volts didn't do anything destructive in the attempt to ease the pain of his great-niece's passing. Something cruel and bloodthirsty had birthed that year in the man, a lurking darkness that flashed in his dull eyes whenever they landed on Capitol children.

Talos played tricks and did the craziest things like pissing off the highest tower of the haunted medieval castle arena with his new friend from Seven. A sizable portion of the teenager population of the Capitol had found him hilarious. He was now begging for his life in a dark dungeon, threatened by Enobaria's protégé.

"Can't she be a little less theatrical and get on with it?" Mercury asked her friend bitterly.

"Phoenix is ugly as sin; she needs to make up for it." There was no smugness in Enobaria's voice but no apology either.

Ugly as sin was harsh, but the redhead was indeed homely enough buyers would be ashamed of admitting they'd wanted her. Not such a bad thing either. Mercury took a deep breath. Talos was as good as dead. "How much more do you need to give Phoenix good gloves or medicine? Her hands are falling apart."

Enobaria's eyes grew wide with surprise before showing her the figures on the computer screen. The gloves were just out of her reach. It was often like that towards the end of the Games, since Snow and the Gamemakers had access to the money owned by each mentor. The frustration of being so close to the sum you needed was just an added bonus.

"We have that. I'll wire it to you."

"That's not done, Mercury."

Mercury rolled her eyes. It was actually, but not among Careers. She'd learned to grab the little chances she had at doing good or at least making her friends happy. The look on Enobaria's face was priceless, the muscled woman seemed almost lost.

Mercury forced a smile as she turned the money over, money that would be lost as soon as Talos' cannon sounded.

It did ten long and painful minutes later.

Phoenix won the next day, with gloves on her hands. Enobaria was beaming like she rarely did.

"She's my childhood best friend's daughter. Eryn and I were inseparable until she dropped out of training." She said a few days later, as their respective trains were to leave.

Mercury frowned. "Why didn't you say so earlier?"

Surely that was not the kind of confidential information that had to be divulged in the middle of a noisy train station.

"You know I hate them. Lyme, Bahamut, Barnabas, Seif, we all do. We all made sacrifices during our training only to realize once we had finally won that we'd been played. Even Brutus does in his way, but it's too deeply buried. That's why the Games remain for him the best days of his life. Phoenix was third in line to volunteer; the other two had unfortunate accidents, Regina Lidessi will limp forever. Snow dislikes how loyal the local peacekeepers are to us."

A hard smile creased Enobaria's face. "Things are changing in Two. The weapons manufacturers have rarely been so hassled or the peacekeepers kept on such a tight leash."

It was time to go home. Mercury hugged the older girl, a smile dancing on her lips as she processed that welcome tidbit of information. Little cracks in the Capitol's iron control. Little cracks that she suspected were slowly getting bigger.

* * *

**Winter 73**

Mercury's eyes were tight in horror as she walked between the tall spires.

What was this place? What had Snow done to her District?

With every passing year, Three grew visibly poorer. For the first time, Mercury saw coat-less children walking the snowy streets at a leisurely pace, trying hard not to look like they were begging, in case a peacekeeper caught them.

Gone were the colored electric lights brightening the dull winter days. The spires cast dark shadows on the streets, like looming swords hovering menacingly over people's exposed neck.

Three's workings had always been opaque to the Capitol. Their overlords could not control the information transit, not when it was so specialized. Snow had finally figured out that any crafty researcher could pass off Taser plans for electric toothbrush ones without much difficulty, so he had created filters. The President built a control base in Two and sent 'trusted' personnel from Three to teach a select few peacekeepers the basis of electronics, telecommunications and informatics, and made it clear the latter would be deported as avoxes if anything went past them.

These peacekeepers were mediocre at best. They never found a thing, not when experts assembled those files, but everything had to transit through them. Productivity was slowed as new designs took months just to get the Capitol's stamp of approval, research was crippled. Unemployment soared as the industries shut whole wings for the first time since The Uprising.

Mercury's heart clenched. Children begging in the streets, in _her city_.

Snow was right: Three had a much greater potential for rebellion than almost all the other districts for the Capitol didn't understand their weapons.

_Your kind doesn't act._

Snow was wrong: cornered, they would bite, and bite _hard_.

The teenagers had all signed up for a couple of slips of tesserae, _every single teenager, _the richer ones giving the supplies to their poorer acquaintances. As long as the whole district took the same amount of tesserae, the chances of being reaped were the same as if none did.

Three was on the brink of rebellion, they just needed a spark.

On impulse, Mercury gestured at one of the loitering children, a small smile gracing her lips.

"I'm going down to buy those luxury motorcycles Data sells. I don't want a scratch on it, and I want it now. Why don't you round up twenty people to carry it for me? It's heavy, you'll be taking turns. I'll compensate you of course."

The boy lit up like a light bulb and gave her a big toothy grin. "Right away, Ma'am. Thanks."

Aster eyed skeptically at her when he caught her in the garden, seated on the big wooden case and swinging her legs like an enthusiastic child.

"What on earth is _that?_"

Mercury crossed her legs seductively. "I always wanted to date a biker."

Aster's eyebrows shot up to his hairline.

He let his eyes trail on her legs appreciatively before smirking at her. "How fast is it?"

"It's Data's." she said with a wink.

Her lover's smirk broadened. "Let's try it, Woman."

Mercury's eyes glittered at his enthusiasm. "Do you even know how to drive it?"

"Actually, yes." Aster said with superior expression. "I did have a life before we met."

Her lips bloomed into a grin. "Bring it on then!"

* * *

**Games 74**

"I don't think we've ever watched the Games together at home." Mercury said pensively as she leaned against Aster's chest.

"Of all the domestic activities we could enjoy…." the man replied with an aggravated sight.

The reaping live broadcast was about to begin.

Mercury kissed him, her eyes dancing. For the first time in ten years, neither of them would be mentoring and that made her insanely happy.

"Let's hope it's not someone we know." Aster muttered.

"Be positive, for once in your life?"

"That wildcard was used when I didn't summon a peacekeeper to keep you out of my house the first time you poked your curious little nose in."

Mercury smiled "Fair enough. I'm still waiting for that marriage proposal."

"The day we will have some power over the promises we make." The man said, a rare solemnity in his voice. "I love you."

It had taken some doing to persuade the technicians to make the air conditioning system as loud as possible so they could whisper unheard.

"Love you too, Aster." Mercury said with a grin.

She knew there were also deeper reasons, scars that might never heal, but she had faith in their mutual love. She nested herself comfortably in his embrace.

She had kept only loose contact with Finder and Grace. It was difficult to keep distant even after all these years, but the safest choice. She spend most of her days between the orphanage and Aster now. The orphans all called her Ma'am now, most of them too young to remember Fiddle.

Less than two weeks later, Aster had to repress guffaws as Seneca Crane announced two winners: the couple from Twelve.

"It's so not funny," Mercury said, a hand over her mouth.

Inwardly she was howling with laughter. Snow had been one-upped by a clever sixteen year old with nightlock.

They sobered quickly enough. Snow didn't have to be angry to destroy people's lives. Katniss and Peeta had angered him like few could boast of.

But never had a victor, _victors_, she amended, fascinated the Capitol for such noble reasons. It had always been superficial, like Finnick's looks, or unsavory, like Brutus' blood-lust. Now it was all about sacrifice, family and love.

Another spark.

Mercury dared let herself hope.

* * *

**Please review, just two more chapters to go before the inevitable end of this book.  
**


	54. Feeding the fire

**Warning: Do not read this if you are looking for something to cheer you up, it won't. This is the penultimate chapter. I might write an epilogue on request.**

**Before I forget: Felix Felicis, have a bowl of cookies. Do share it with your sister^^.  
**

**Thank you all for your wonderful reviews.  
**

* * *

**Games 75**

Peeta and Katniss' only crime was survival yet hate coursed through Mercury's veins. The couple from Twelve was about to destroy the one little corner of happiness she had manage to salvage in this unforgiving world.

One mere chance in four that neither her nor Aster would be thrown in the arena again. Such _luck_ would mean Volts and Wiress would be.

She took a deep breath, composed as always for the cameras.

It was a treacherously beautiful day. The cool wind caressed the four victors' faces as they awaited their potential death sentence.

The escort's red outfit reminded her of the sovereign magi of old fantasy books. It suited him perfectly, but for once, he looked ancient. More importantly, Dante hated red. She could see it, in the precise economy of his movements and the stiffness of his expression. Dante was furious. So furious he hadn't trusted himself to visit them before the reaping.

The escort solemnly walked towards the almost empty ladies' bowl first, breaking with his habit of theatrical speeches before the draw.

"Wiress Nebula," he read in clipped tones.

Aster and her shared a pained but relieved look. Volts would go with her, even if he wasn't reaped. Mercury would be the woman's mentor. How ironic.

Tears ran unchecked down her pale cheeks.

Dante didn't say a word about the man accompanying a deathly pale Wiress up the platform, his hand reaching for the second slip.

"Beetee Morse."

So be it.

* * *

Dante had lied.

It hadn't been Wiress' name but hers on that paper.

She was certain of it now that she saw the list of other victors. The ones selected were the ones with the most ties to the Capitol, the ones who the media spoke the most about. Blueblood's protection couldn't extend that far. His mansion was long finished.

Wiress been reaped made no sense in a rigged reaping. She had lived her life isolated, immersed in her research, dependent upon an undisturbed routine, feeling safe only with Volts close. Aster would never have idly watched her enter the arena. Reaping Mercury and Volts would effectively have killed Three's four victors.

Only Dante knew.

Wiress was waiting for her just outside the restrooms. Mercury steadied herself on the wall as the train followed the winding railways of District Two.

"What is the strategy?" Wiress asked, her eyes downcast.

Mercury blinked. Wiress truly expected to be mentored?

"Let's go sit down," the younger woman said, taking Wiress' arm.

She should have expected it. Wiress was most comfortable when following a clear set of rules. The rules said Mercury and she had to develop a strategy together. Mercury's nails were digging so hard into her hand she could feel skin tear. Her expert mask was slowly slipping. She couldn't do this.

Wiress winning would make no sense if Volts was dead.

If the orphan had to choose, she would save Enobaria, and Enobaria would certainly try to kill Wiress: while victors numbed themselves with an incredible array of chemical substances, suicides were almost unheard of. Survival had etched itself in their DNA, overriding every shred of remaining humanity.

Her mind rebelled at the thought. How could she just sit behind a screen in the Capitol and wait for them to die?

_Just like all the other times. _Her treacherous mind-voice, who had taken to sound uncannily like Mesmer, whispered.

_No. Not this time._

* * *

A bitter laugh rose in Mercury's throat as Katniss and Peeta's twelves in training flashed on screen. Snow was as transparent as a child.

There was something in the air. The unrest in Eight had evidently been much more severe than they'd been led to believe: Capitol people were wearing the same outfits days in a row. Seeder had all but told her Eleven's uprising hadn't been subdued despite the official line the Capitol media kept to. There had hardly been any fish in the train-rides banquet. Little but significant details: the spark evidently had caught.

Mercury stifled a vindictive snicker, so much for Snow's forest fire management.

She also noticed that some of the victors were much too calm. Johanna could've been much more verbally aggressive, Haymich hadn't vomited on anyone yet and Volts had told her 'I wonder what that bastard Plutarch has prepared.'

The bespectacled victor was a very precise man. Plutarch had been recognized by his father. The word 'bastard' was therefore inappropriate. Volts was telling her there was something about Plutarch.

The new Head Gamemaker had been appointed by Snow himself. She'd thought that meant he was Snow's lapdog. Instead she learned through discreet word-signing with Dike that Snow thought him harmless because he had no apparent personality. Yet he'd volunteered for the Head Gamemaker job. A sudden spike of ambition? Family pressure?

"I want to nuke something," Johanna confided in her.

Mercury had been leaving to meet with Enobaria.

"You were saying?"

Johanna rarely talked to her. The fact Mercury was always calm and only gave reasonable, rational and generally obscure (although Mercury begged to differ) advice grated on the more passionate victor's nerves. At least Mercury had been spared an unflattering nickname, although Wiress didn't seem to mind 'Nuts' so much.

"You know, big bombs, big destruction, something better might grow over it." The other woman said, not quite wind-milling her arms.

Mercury granted her an encouraging smile. Johanna's attempts at delivering coded messages were almost cute.

"Warn me if it's anywhere near my house."

"There's always collateral damage. I can't see Plutarch not mucking things up..." Johanna muttered bitterly before abruptly heading away.

Mercury pondered those words as she headed down to the second floor. Nukes had last been used on Thirteen. Collateral damage in Three, even if Johanna used atomic weapons, would only happen if the bombing was accompanied by a full rebellion.

That rebellion was in the air was now certain, but how big a rebellion? And why mention Plutarch if it was obvious Snow was behind the Quell? Johanna would not have bothered not blaming the President directly.

Plutarch evidently had a major role in this. Hunting rebels? That was a laudable activity in the Capitol, it would be known. Plutarch was laying low _because_ he was a rebel?

Whatever it was Volts knew about it too.

"Careful, Mercury."

She'd nearly collided into Dante.

"Just thinking about Johanna wanting to nuke Plutarch."

"Don't worry about it." The man said, squeezing her shoulder. His eyes were glinting.

_Alright, let the others do the scheming._ She wondered why Dante would know and not her. Maybe Effie? If the reaped victors were in the loop, why couldn't she be told?

"Fine." She said with a shrug, deciding investigating further would only cause harm to those trying to be discreet. She would know soon enough.

* * *

"Brutus looks ready to cry from happiness." Pia said, pity and disgust lacing her tone.

"He will kill them! He won't even think about it!" Pan spat, violently upturning a table in anger.

"Cool it, Lumberjack. That's my booze you're about to stain the floor with." Haymich said, his eyes narrowed in warning. Despite the aggressiveness, he was as sober as Mercury had ever seen him.

"Then finish the damn bottle, that's what you do no?" Blight's mentor shot back. The non-Career mentors all shared a big room. Mercury was saddened that the situation hadn't enabled the victors to overcome their differences. She wondered what Phoenix and the other Career victors were thinking right now.

"It's not going to happen before the bloodbath, is it?" Mercury whispered, her lips almost touching Haymich's ear as she leaned over to borrow his whiskey and took a swig.

"Not even for your beautiful eyes, Darling!" Haymich growled, grabbing his bottle back. "No," he added pointedly.

Aster pulled her back on his knees, his body so tense that Mercury was afraid he'd snap.

She screamed when Seeder collapsed on the ground, lifeless eyes frozen in a silent cry for help.

Strong arms grabbed her and dragged her out of the room.

"We'll give you the short version." Haymich said, a strange gleam in his eyes. He let Aster out before slamming the door.

"Wiress and Beetee are safe." Aster muttered, letting himself fall on the ground besides her.

_What does safe even mean anymore?_

"The arena will make up for those who won't kill each other," Mercury said in dead tones. "I hope Finnick dies next so that the Capitol revolts."

On the second day of the Games _- _the Games with the most insolent tributes ever - they were verbally thrashing the Capitol whenever they had the chance, something even the editing failed to conceal. _What could Snow have possibly been thinking? -_ in the early morning, Dante burst in the room where she and Aster were monitoring their friends' situation.

"I have found us a sponsor, but he wants us to come to him. Hurry!" He said excitedly.

"Both of us?"

"He was adamant, Mercury. And I know him personally, he's no crook."

"Sure."

It was an uncommon but not unheard of demand. People here had big egos.

"He wants Wiress to finish the prototype that she mentioned in the news because he believes it would augment hovercraft autonomy, but first he wants to clarify a few points."

"Like, can the two of us do it in case Wiress dies?" Mercury replied, sarcasm lacing her voice.

"Maybe." Dante allowed. He seemed supremely unconcerned. Maybe it was his way of coping...

The Hovercraft bay was very quiet at seven am in the middle of the Games. A man in surprisingly subdued attire was waiting for them. Next to him, an athletic woman in her mid-twenties waved, a friendly smile on her full lips.

"Good! Hurry, I want to show you this," the pilot said.

"Get in." Dante said, gently pushing the Capitol woman in. The latter shot him a confused look.

Something clicked in Mercury's brain. She shared a look with Aster who actually smiled.

"Nice, Dante. I'm impressed," he said.

The escort puffed up with pride. "Hurry, now!"

"Grandfather, what's this about?" the woman, who had to be the Lyra who Dante so often gushed about, said, apprehension obvious on her features.

"Just trust me, Treasure." Dante said, wrapping an arm around her shoulders.

The hovercraft took off, almost silent in the early morning light.

"So?" Mercury asked, drawing the syllable out.

"The spark has caught. Plutarch had been in contact for months with District 13."

The escort certainly expected surprise. He didn't expect fury.

Mercury was shaking with rage. "A large group of people had access to stealth technology so powerful the Capitol never found them in all these years and they're making themselves known only now?"

"Maybe the Capitol knew." Aster began cynically, resting a soothing hand on her arm. "District 13 had nuclear technology, therefore means of retaliation. But I'd have expected the Capitol to have found a way to wipe them out by now, poison water, a plague…."

"So whoever was monitoring them for the Capitol turned coat and Snow is using this Quzell to make the rebels, of District 13 included, reveal themselves?" Mercury guessed, forcing her temper to cool. She inwardly chastised herself for never researching District Thirteen.

This was bigger than what she had ever imagined. She could feel warmth blossoming in her chest. It was there, tantalizingly out of range, the taste of freedom.

"Where are we going?" Aster inquired, his arm around her waist.

"We jammed the signals, they will be following us soon, but they will not be close enough to know we will have already left the hovercraft when it will explode." The pilot said. His lack of make-up and flashy clothes now made sense.

"So we will be reported dead? Where will we hide? We can disguise, Dante, but you're… more noticeable." Mercury pointed out.

"Don't worry about us, Child," the Capitolite said, looking down fondly at the twenty-nine year old. "You will see when we arrive."

Lyra seemed to be slowly recovering from shock "Dante, what is this? And what about Mother?"

"You said you wanted to know the truth Lyra, now you will see the truth. I have been a coward but now I can try to do my part. Effie told me nothing, except that Thirteen was on the move and that the Peeta and Katniss, the Mockingjay, had to be protected at all costs. I hope your mother will be fine."

Mercury couldn't believe she had been that wrong about Plutarch.

"Katniss Everdeen. A symbol. It doesn't even matter what kind of person she is, they'll make her into what they want." Aster said with a hard smile. "And it might even work, who knows…."

He was pointedly ignoring Lyra, a sure sign that he strongly disapproved of her presence. Despite the liability, Mercury couldn't fault Dante for trying to save his favorite grandchild.

They jumped out of the hovercraft, shielded by the shadow of the hill they'd turned behind, into gelid water. Minutes later, the three hovercrafts trailing them shot the unmanned craft out of the air. They had sent a recorded distress signal to pretend they were still on board. Now, hopefully, they were officially dead.

"Where are we?" a gasping Lyra asked. Despite her confusion she had obeyed without question.

"Near Six, I contacted the woman you said, Dante, but first we walk." The Capitol pilot, Aelius, said with a rueful grin. He looked sixty, as Capitol looks went, broad shouldered and tanned with a bald head.

Mercury took a few moments to recognize the woman who greeted them in the evening light. She soon felt tears pooling in her eyes.

"You're Drake's sister, aren't you?"

"Doctor Fibula Liberty now," the chestnut haired woman said softly.

"Congratulation on your wedding." Mercury said with a small smile.

"Thank you, dear. Come, I'm happy to have you here."

"I need to warn my District somehow. We have prepared for this." Mercury said once they had reached Fibula's small house. She was grinning like a fool.

_Free, they were free_! It didn't matter there would be war, but here they would not have to watch their every word and action._ Free at long last!_

"Two days ago I told Finder you had eaten all the strawberries and that it had ruined the birthday cake I had wanted to bake for my friend Erinna's birthday when he asked if everything was fine, does that count?" Dante said with a small smug smile.

Mercury laughed, unable to believe it had all been so easy.

"Why strawberries?" Aelius said, puzzled.

"Because strawberries were handed out to the rebels under siege in Three during the first rebellion. Three has never seen a strawberry since, because of the symbol." Aster explained, his lips twitching.

"This Quell is an abomination. I have had enough." Dante said, a dark solemn cast to his features.

Aster rolled his eyes at the old man's declaration. Mercury elbowed her lover gently. This was neither the time nor place to argue whether victors dying in the Games made it worse than children dying.

"Wait, what?" Lyra whispered, looking more overwhelmed by the minute.

"How did you achieve this?" Aster asked.

Dante smiled thinly. "I am ninety-six years old, young man. I know how things work in my city."

"How dependent are you on Capitol medicine to keep you healthy?" Aster added bluntly.

Dante's smile grew annoyed. "I have a stock. As long as we don't go cross-country, I can live months as I am."

"That's pretty good already. I just can't believe this is real. What will happen to the tributes?" Mercury said, wringing her hands.

She fiercely hoped that Enobaria had been told about the rebellion, that the others had not taken for granted her support of the Capitol. She doubted Finnick or even Volts suspected how deep her hatred ran. She knew to be Enobaria's only true friend amongst the victors and now cursed herself for not having shared the conversation she'd had with Johanna.

"Plutarch has a plan, obviously. We need to focus on what we can do from here." Dante said.

"Volts knows Capitol electronics better than any man alive, he could infiltrate them. While we cannot jam the Capitol's communications from here, we can create underground comm channels to get word and build an organized resistance."

"The Web cannot resist a Peacekeeper's incursion. If they destroy the spires, we will be crippled." Aster pointed out.

"The barracks doors open automatically, remember, Love? The windows are unbreakable and even the emergency exits can be jammed electronically."

"Seriously?" Aelius said aghast.

"Capitolites have never been good physicists and the ones who claim some knowledge of physics are still too few. We have been lying for decades about what we produced." Aster said, unexpectedly pulling Mercury into a deep embrace.

Fibula snorted. "The more I hear, the more I wonder how the Capitol survived all these years."

"No matter how dry the grass, fire won't happen if there isn't a spark somewhere." Mercury said, a healthy flush to her face. "Now let's start working, how are things here?"

"The people in transport have already reacted. More hovercrafts than usual have been recalled for maintenance; the excuse we gave was that the Capitol would need everything for the end of the Games when the real trouble would begin."

Fibula's smile was rather diabolical. "The ports have been locked, within a few days the Capitol will figure it out, but they'll also realize they only have a skeleton crew of transports to reach us. It will give us time before reinforcements arrive; hopefully long enough to have the districts rebel openly and force the Capitol to concentrate their forces on other, closer, Districts."

_Like, Three?_ The horror of impeding war was slowly sinking in. Mercury tightened her hold on her lover, a flinty look in her pale eyes. She hoped she would have the strength to contribute to what would probably be the messiest event in her lifetime.

They could be witnessing the end of the true Dark Days.

"The Capitol needs to be brought down, as long as there are enough survivors to reorganize themselves in a fairer government. We need to pay the price." Aster said. "We need to contact people quickly, while Snow is distracted by the Games."

"Lyme, Barnabas, Bahamut, Seif," Mercury muttered.

"Victors from Two, what about them?"

"Enobaria said that they hated the Capitol, Dante. If we secure Two, we've won half the rebellion. Get me into any factory, I can build a radio. Finder knows what frequency I'd use for a coded message and with the facilities back home we can contact them on a secure channel."

"We need Nine, Ten and Eleven's railways blown up. If the supply routes are destroyed, the peacekeepers' mobility will be reduced." Aster said, his dark eyes lit with a rare passion.

Eleven was probably already taking care of it.

"Screens in all the markets in those Districts show the fluctuating prices of various food-wares, we can infiltrate those to send a global message. They lack the security of the Capitol's telecom system."

Fibula was staring at Aster in wide-eyed awe. "What were they thinking when they let a District handle electronics if you can do all this easily?"

"Because, unlike the advanced medicine they do produce in the Capitol, it takes too many hardworking educated people to keep the system going. The Capitol would have to put a quarter of its adult population to work, which is inconceivable, and it would require factories they have no space for." Aster explained with a small superior smile. "And I expect they do not truly know what we can do. We do not boast."

Mercury echoed that smile with a triumphant one. "Just because we are a quiet population doesn't mean we are submissive, we have bided our time. Now the way is open, you will see what we truly think of the Capitol."

"Okay, do you have a minute now?" Lyra said, her anger obvious.

Mercury smiled at the disgruntled woman, impressed she had not thrown a fit earlier. "Come, I'll tell you a story."

The word slowly spread. Plutarch had already some contacts in the Districts who immediately picked up the signal and expanded their small contact pool tenfold.

The little group decided to focus on warning the Career districts, as it was obvious now that in Seven, Eight and Eleven, the rebellion had already taken root and that channels had been opened to rouse the Districts nearby.

Distress supplanted their euphoria as Wiress' death was broadcasted. Mercury bit her lip to contain the churning pain twisting her insides. She tore her eyes away from the screen; swallowing back her tears. They had to concentrate, tempers were already too high. Those attitudes wouldn't serve the rebellion. The look in Aster's and Dante's eyes was dangerously close to bloodlust. Mercury threatened to turn off the television if they didn't help with the radios.

Once again it was all about surviving, the difference was that winning would this time truly make the world a better place.

Lyra had surprised them all by embracing the rebels' cause with a passion approaching fanaticism after she had heard Mercury's tale on the true nature of Panem. Aster still refused to acknowledge her presence, finding her radical change of opinions proof of a deficient mind. While it exasperated Dante, the two's attitude amused Mercury to no end and provided some much needed distraction.

A call from Lyme, requesting a refund and a new delivery of a vintage motorbike showed the woman had received and understood the message they had sent. There had never been any motorbike.

The group's cheer was short lived. Lyme's message came minutes before all hell broke loose. Mercury didn't even have the time to figure out what Volts was attempting with the forcefield, for in the chaos that followed, the clock-like arena was somehow destroyed, Volts, Enobaria, Johanna, Finnick, Katniss and Peeta still alive in the mix.

"Was that Snow's or Plutarch's doing? Johanna removed Katniss's tracker but she could've been too late." Dante said, his eyes wide in shock. He was a different person with his short white hair, plain clothes and no golden eyelashes to compliment his natural dark brown eyes.

"It has to be Plutarch." Mercury said tightly, her eyes riveted on the dark screen, as if she could turn it back on just by wishing hard enough.

"I hope Plutarch knows what he's doing, there are mentors and the escorts in the Capitol. Snow will target them for sure!"

Aster snorted at Lyra's outraged exclamation. "Acceptable sacrifices," he said, bitterness lacing his words. "We are nothing in the grand scheme of things. The rebellion must prevail."

Mercury squeezed his hand, desperate for new information. Districts Twelve, Eleven, Ten, Nine, Eight and Six hadn't had enough victors to supply both two tributes and two mentors to the Capitol, but that still left twelve victors in the fortress city. She didn't want to believe Plutarch would just leave them at the Snow's mercy. He had to have planned an escape route.

"Phoenix has probably no clue…." Mercury whispered bitterly. "We need to warn the victors, all of them. It doesn't matter if Snow reads the message. They need to go undercover. They'll be primary targets."

Aster shook his head, anger darkening his stern features. "If Snow digs now he'll see all we've begun to do and send a bomb straight at us. We need two more days to secure the channels or we will have no support to offer to District Thirteen or whoever is behind this."

"Two days. There's no way around it," Mercury muttered, wringing her hands. "Let's hope it's enough."

It wasn't.

Feverish communications from Eleven poured in on all channels. Twelve was being bombed.

Mercury sagged back against her chair, her strength leaving her. The Capitol depended on the coal for energy, they couldn't bomb a whole District! It was irrational, it couldn't be happening.

It was.

The woman barely registered Lyra's furious cursing.

"Focus!" Aster snapped. "We are no help if we stay idle, moaning about the world's evils."

The Capitolite burst into tears in her grandfather's arms.

Lyme escaped. She wasn't alone but didn't divulge the names of her companions. Families of the victors had been targeted too. The peacekeepers were in chaos. There were the loyal ones, the rebels and a great majority, the idle, the ones who were waiting for a semblance of order to be re-established.

Similar news came from Garnet in One: the victors were being hunted. The former Career had no idea if others had escaped only that the majority of the peacekeepers were trying to desert. The train stations and hoverports were a mess, the people hiding in their own houses.

Garnet had stolen the camera of an open TV-channel, speaking fast, alerting anyone watching the national broadcasts, _everyone_. He'd had a knife in his hand, they didn't get him alive.

Mercury had never met him before, but she now mourned the brave white-haired victor.

The following weeks were the most exhausting of Mercury's life. They never left their hideout, dependent on Fibula for supplies, alone with the radios and the lifeline of steady information Finder fed them. His reports about the uprising in Three were encouraging but the victors had little to rejoice about. Where their houses had once stood only ashes remained; Wiress' family had been murdered during the night and Dubhe Polaris killed when she had gone to inquire what the unknown peacekeepers were doing in her son's house.

"Foolish." Aster had muttered, ashen. Mercury stifled a sob.

He did not mention his mother's death again. There was no time to grieve.

Finder finally managed to contact Volts, omitting that Aster and Mercury were still alive.

District Thirteen was hardly ecstatic when Finder hijacked their computing system but they were happier when a slowly recovering Volts told them that it would be much easier for him to take control of the Capitol's communications if he had a channel open with Three and that few people had Finder's talent with computers anyway.

Three's radars warned Six of incoming Hovercrafts, few passed through the net of avian defenses they had woven. Few but still too many. Poor Peeta, still captive in the Capitol, deserved a statue for warning them. The rebel's hovercrafts had been lured away while the Capitol's remaining fleet had headed towards Thirteen, hoping to crush the morale. The Capitol failed.

Nevertheless the rebel avian defense was one of their successes: the rebellion was a mess, with very little central organization and District 13 still needing to organize itself too. They struggled to coordinate assaults, to optimize resources and to make the enthusiastic rebels understand that logistics were not just a pain that distracted them from the more physical acts of rebellion but something that would help the cause. It was fanaticism, people oppressed for too long who went wild now that they could do so, and through sheer numbers, even the better organized and equipped Capitol army of peacekeepers and conscripts were overwhelmed. But the losses were staggering.

"Dante and Lyra cannot continue like this." Mercury said, her fingers drawing shapes over Aster's bare torso. Even in the dead of night the streets were not silent anymore.

"Capitolites languish without a crowd to flatter their vanity."

Mercury sighed at his condemning tone. "They are social people, even back home many people would find being locked here hard. We need to go back to Three."

"We can't risk being seen. They'll kill us, thinking us Capitol spies. Lyra will wilt at the first sign of horror. She is too enthusiastic about the rebellion, like a child given an great cause. Ask her to describe what she thinks is happening out there. You may be surprised."

Mercury sighed again, letting him cradle her protectively against his body.

Snow had been cunning, the families of the people who conscripted were promised money and shelter in the Capitol. Many cynical district dwellers therefore joined the ranks of the loyal peacekeepers, especially at first when the Capitol's broadcasts announced an impeding victory. Genuine videos of the living and newly accommodated families were shown to prove the Capitol's goodwill. Keeping the districts updated on what was truly happening was difficult. The information had first to be sent to Three by the rebels on the battlefields.

Finally, after a month of frantic guerrilla and all-around chaos, District Thirteen managed to go live. Katniss Everdeen and rebel propaganda was on every screen. No matter what the histories would later say, it was that day that the rebellion was won. From inside their safe house Mercury, Aster, Fibula and an exhausted Dante drank to Volts' superb mastery of electronics and the end of the rebellion. And when Finder informed them that Johanna, Peeta and Annie had been rescued from the Capitol, Mercury suddenly felt invincible. A radiant and confident smile never left her face, lighting the groups' monotone days. The grin only faded in the dead of night, when, in the privacy of her covers, Mercury prayed for news of Enobaria, who hadn't been seen since the arena had exploded.

Only Lyra seemed immune to the euphoria that had gripped the rebel world. Days later, the young woman was still sullen and subdued. Aster had been right, Lyra had been trapped by dreams of glory. Despite the sometimes crude radio reports, nothing had prepared the girl for the sheer barbarism of the battlefields.

A muffled crashing sound reached Mercury's ears. Heavy steps were nearing the basement where they hid.

It was too early for Fibula.

The victor's hands began to move of their own accord as terror surged through her veins. Finder had to be warned that they had been compromised. She knew the emergency codes by heart.

Mercury snapped towards the others as Dante's shout pierced through her daze.

Aster had Lyra by the neck. "Why aren't you surprised?" He hissed, fury etched in his stern features.

Mercury tore at the last of the radio connectors. "We leave now!" She breathed, not understanding why they were still there.

Armed men burst in, both from the door and the concealed exit. Their uniforms were new and not from Six.

Aster's intense stare tore Mercury out of her stupor. Her blue eyes filled with tears as the depth of the betrayal sunk in.

_Why Lyra? Why!_

"Don't move! You are to come back to the Capitol."

"They said they want to find a peaceful way to end this. People have been listening to you, you can stop the senseless murder, make it stop!" Lyra croaked, struggling against Aster's iron grip.

No. The naive girl couldn't possibly believe that. _This is a nightmare, wake up!_

A scream as shrill as it was brief cut the air followed by the grim sound of bones snapping. His traits lit by all-consuming madness, Aster cast away Lyra's limp form with the finality of an avenging angel.

Mercury's mouth parted slightly when red pools of blood appeared on her lover's back. Her disbelieving eyes met a terrified-looking young peacekeeper's. She couldn't make sense of what she was seeing.

Dante's primitive cry of anguish cut the air as he fell next to his grandchild. His fist collided with the jaw of the uniformed man who stepped in his way.

Another gunshot ripped the air.

"It's the victors who mattered," Dante's murderer said coolly, "take her alive."

Mercury stood unmoving as shackles were roughly fastened to her wrists, unable to tear her shocked eyes from her lover's lifeless form.

_Aster. My Aster._

She wanted to die.

* * *

***Disconsolate wailing***

**Don't you dare not review. Yes, I mean you, you score of heartless lurkers.**


	55. End of an era

The dark-haired victor was drifting in the colorless void of infinite space, removed from any sensation but the comforting rhythm of her steady breathing. She was only detachedly aware of her body's great thirst, of the cold steel pressed against her reddened wrists, of the shadow her slender frame cast on the painted wall of her little room. Hope and fear, passion and sorrow, were mere fading memories. An odd little smile graced her cracked lips. Time was her truest ally. Death was the only great mystery she now craved to explore.

Death would reunite her with her Aster; or it simply wouldn't matter.

Cross legged on the mahogany bed, Mercury lifted her eyes to the opening door. For the first time in three days, Coriolanus Snow entered her cozy cell.

Vengeance was discarded as swiftly as it came to her mind. The chains were too short and she was less strong than she had been on the first day. They hadn't broken then, they wouldn't break now.

A distant feeling of disappointment caused Mercury's smile to wane. The man's voice crashed around her, like shallow waves on old reef. She could see his lips moving but didn't attempt to focus on his words.

Her small smile was back as the President's paper white skin flushed with impotent rage. He had thought hitting her might provoke a reaction on his last visit and Mercury's lips twitched further as she brought two fingers to her unblemished cheek. She had been healed within the hour; it seemed Snow had actually felt ashamed of his loss of control.

_Loss of control._

Death had accompanied Mercury everywhere she had walked; in a thousand disguises during a dozen Games, curbing the victors' necks with its powerful skeletal hand and lurking in the eyes of the loved ones of the children whose lives the arenas had claimed. Death now sat beside her in companionable silence, waiting for Time to give its assent.

The unsuppressed fury shaking the President's whole body had a mesmerizing potency to it. It was amusing, to see how the balance of power had shifted and him so helpless to spark her anger or even fear.

"…. Enobaria."

Like an anchor thrown by a drifting vessel, the name jarred Mercury back to reality. Snow had doubtless repeatedly threatened every person dear to her in the last twelve days, but his tone was different this time.

She blinked.

Snow's voice was trembling with barely controlled rage as he resorted to bargaining with her. "Enobaria is still in custody, unharmed. I will grant the two of you a moment and let her return to Two if you cooperate."

_Enobaria. _

Neither Finder, Grace nor the golden-toothed Career would heal her shredded heart, but just as they would have fought for her, they deserved more than a terse distress signal to remember her by.

Her voice felt raw from thirst and disuse. "You are the spider at the heart of a web of lies and control," she began, "a web so intricate it would stun even the most brilliant minds. Yet now that the web is consumed by the flames. Who will remember, Snow? The Districts barely suspect the extent of the lies. The Capitol fares little better and the victors, those who had the best understanding, are almost all dead. Who will remember the power you wielded when they could only ever see fragments of a hidden picture?" Mercury smiled at the tense little man. "That is why I am here, isn't it? I may be the one person still alive that saw all the strands. You are more afraid of being forgotten than you are of death."

Snow looked stunned for a moment, as if he hadn't expected her to speak. He sat on the chair next to the door, a wistful cast to his face. "How did this happen, perceptive little bird?"

_It is much too late for doubts, Snow. Alea jacta est._ _Panem will never be the same again._

"Last year, to rebel openly was to shoot your own children and condemn your loving wife to a terrible death. Few are that idealistic and brave. Now there is but one angry voice, a fierce vengeful mass that will crush the Capitol no matter the cost." A resilient spark of anger infused Mercury's calm voice. "There were no beggars before your rule in Three, no starving children sleeping in the classrooms. Oppressed people don't act only if the alternative is worse. You made sure the odds were in Plutarch's favor."

"You must be thrilled."

Mercury didn't smile. "We are of the same species Snow, a soon to be extinct species."

Snow glowered. "I will be remembered!"

"Your name will, but who will truly remember you? The man who flawlessly blamed Zephyr's murder on rebels, who single-handedly made the Districts bow for over a decade."

_Angles and lies. Who would truly remember her? Why, Aster? Why did their story have to end here, so close to the rebirth? _

"Who studies history anymore?" Mercury pursued, absently tracing her wolf tattoo with a dirty finger. "The bans have been in place for so long…. Even in Three few people have the curiosity. Freeing Enobaria can only help your cause."

Snow arched a thick eyebrow. "Pray tell."

His posture failed to conceal his inner turmoil. His agitation was quite at odds with Mercury's eerie calm.

"Her teeth and mere presence is a physical reminder of the Games and therefore the Capitol. People will want to forget. She will force them to remember everything they destroyed, to remember the times they were helpless and scared, to remember you."

Many would try to kill the former Career. Mercury shut her eyes briefly, hoping her friend would find her place in a Panem in which victors would be obsolete.

Snow nodded slowly and stood up. It was odd, to see him there, stripped of all pretense, a fierce hunger for recognition burning in his dark eyes.

Mercury hissed out of instinct when a short needle went in her arm.

"A partial antidote to this poison will be in your every meal. Stop eating and you will painlessly die in less than six hours. I can still send two dozen hovercrafts on a suicide mission on Three's spires if you abuse that privilege. I won't hesitate, even if it would hasten my defeat. I believe we have a deal, Mercury."

"I believe history matters, Mr. President, even when unpleasant," the woman replied with a ghost of a smile, "people shouldn't forget."

* * *

"You look healthy, old friend."

Enobaria's full lips bloomed into a smile. She tightly grasped the other victor's hands. "Hello, Mercury. You've now convinced me staying in the Capitol was a great idea."

"You stayed in their custody willingly?" Mercury said, curiosity evident in her blue eyes.

"I wasn't mistreated. The success of the rebellion doesn't depend on me." A belligerent ring entered the muscled woman's voice. "I gave my whole life to the Capitol, first training, then as a victor. I deserve to have a chance at life. It is time for the others to fight."

"So you will wait until Two is finally secured by the rebels and then join the Mockingjay."

Enobaria nodded, evidently having expected Mercury to disapprove of her attitude.

Mercury smiled instead. "Live, find love, have children. You have nothing to prove to anyone."

"Why aren't you fighting anymore? You were among the most resilient of us." Pain creased the Career's features. "I don't want to start over alone. And don't you dare tell me to bond with Beetee."

Mercury's hold on her friend tightened. "I'm sorry," she whispered, "I have a trigger in my veins. I am done here, no matter the outcome."

"Willingly!" Enobaria growled. "Why? You were never a coward."

Mercury caught a tear on the woman's thick eyelashes. "I'm not a mop," she said waspishly, referring to their very first conversation; back when they'd both been stubborn teenagers thrown in a world of unbelievable cruelty.

A dry chuckle escaped Enobaria's lips. "Stop deflecting, damn it."

The younger victor's blue eyes glistened as she pulled the other in a tight embrace.

She had dreamed so long of a free Panem and now wept for the price still to be paid. She had been the Capitol's since the day she had been reaped and the Capitol would claim her ashes.

"Aster was my cause and my passion, my rock and my hopes. He made me real for he saw through the lies and pretense. I have nothing left to give, old friend. Maybe I wasn't so strong after all…."

Enobaria stared at her for what seemed the longest time; the fire in her eyes so at odds with the other's resigned sadness. "I can't imagine letting go now we finally have a real chance at life. At least I'll get to meet Finder," she added with a tight smile.

"He'll be thrilled, truly. Please tell him the truth, I never had the chance. I trust that I can convince Snow to let me send him and Grace a last letter but some things cannot be explained in writing. He knew the girl, you knew the victor. I am so glad you were there."

"Oh stop acting like this is our last conversation," Enobaria snapped, baring her teeth in helpless fury.

"It is."

"Shut up."

Mercury childishly struck her tongue out.

The other glared before stifling a sob. "I could call my first son Hermes."

A smile split the orphan's lips at the convoluted homage. "Very District Two. Different enough from Mercury not to give him issues. I am honored, but only if it doesn't cause you more pain."

"I can handle pain. I don't want to forget you. I'll miss you."

"Be well. Don't let everyone dictate your choices ever again."

Enobaria gently raised her hand to Mercury's head and pressed her lips to the other's forehead.

"Say hello to Aster and Dante from me. He's the only Capitolite I ever saw naked."

A small giggle escaped Mercury's lips at the memory. "Be happy, Enobaria."

Hazel eyes burned into hers, a frightening in their intensity. Enobaria's lips crashed against hers, capturing her mouth in an embrace as passionate as it was brief.

"See, I _can_ kiss. I'll do my best," the Career said with a tight smile. She spun on her heels and regally exited the room.

Mercury blinked, slowly recovering her senses. She was confident her friend was exclusively attracted to men. Trust Enobaria to be so theatrical.

The chained victor now wondered if she was the other's first kiss.

_I'm so sorry, Enobaria._

* * *

Mercury folded her hands on her lap. "Why didn't you ever demand that I conceive a child?"

Snow actually chuckled. "You truly believe me a heartless monster don't you?"

"Surprise me, then."

"You saved the life of one of the few individuals I esteem. The hassle would not have been worth it."

Mercury cocked an eyebrow, unimpressed. This was supposed to convince her that Snow was capable of compassion? The fact that he had enough children to slaughter already without needing to alienate one of his greatest supporters?

A flash of sorrow darkened her face. Were any of those sweet children still alive?

"Do you regret not having brought something of Aster's into this world? Leaving no legacy in a soon to be orphan? It would've been rather poetic."

Mercury smiled mirthlessly. "Mesmer was better at this than you are. Maybe because, back then, I actually cared. If you want tears, you shall be disappointed."

Snow's blood red lips twisted into a sinister smirk. "Why shouldn't I bargain with Finder? The codes to Thirteen's central system in exchange for your life?"

Mercury's gaze was condescending. "He wouldn't be my best friend if he was such a coward and you have no idea as to how to contact him. A District-wide broadcast would make sure people would arrest him before he could even consider it."

Snow reddened in anger. He exhaled slowly. "I want you to write to him."

"And here I was, thinking you'd never ask."

"How can you be certain he'll do what you say?" Snow said, struggling to overlook her insolence.

"If you are forgotten, the victors and the tributes will fall into oblivion. Talking of the Games gives my life meaning as much as it does yours. Finder will make sure the information is spread and the files never destroyed. I trust him."

_Drake, Yolo, Mesmer, Harrow, Rosemary, Georgie... She had a duty to all of them. Panem couldn't forget._

"I will narrate you my life story. I want you to write it and ask any question that comes to your mind. I want this compulsory schooling, at the very least in Three, for the thousand years to come. Convince him this is the only way to avoid another Hunger Games. Have him make you a martyr if necessary."

_Poor megalomaniac losing the big rebellion. History is important, Snow, it's not just about you and me._

"You have my word Mr. President. You should hurry," she added with a mirthless smirk,"Two is rebelling. We may not even have a month."

* * *

_Dear Finder,_

_The files are an accurate report of Capitol activity in the last decades. They need to be taught. Letting the past slip into oblivion will not change history, nor will it change people. This is not about Coriolanus Snow's ego but about Panem as a civilization. Truth cannot be censored in order to protect the sensibilities of crowds. The younger generations will need to know how the rebellion came to be to hope to understand their parents' nightmares and understand where they come from. Please make sure the files are not destroyed._

_You, Grace and Enobaria are the only people I truly leave behind. I am proud of what I have achieved these last years. Remember the dead but fight on for the living. _

_Fulgora is an amazing wife; don't you dare neglect her to honor my last requests. Don't traumatize the kids with tales of my valor either. Even sugar coated, please don't go beyond "I lost a 'insert a string of superlative flattering adjectives' friend" before they turn at least ten. Get drunk with Enobaria if you feel like reminiscing. I know it will be hard. I am sorry my love for you is not enough for me to move past Aster's death. You were always there, even when I had little to offer. I cannot express how much I love and owe you, Finder._

_Maybe I should start from the distress signal I sent six weeks ago…_

Mercury programmed a delay of twelve-four hours before pressing the send button.

_Dear Grace,_ she began typing.

_I'm dying of a broken heart. Of all the ways to go..._

_You were right; I'm appallingly dependent on 'that abrasive arrogant man who barely deigns to be fond of a beautiful woman who is a saint with him.'_

_Don't ever change._

…

Her fingers were trembling as she finished the second letter.

* * *

She was the symbol of the old rule, spoils of a silent war waged for threescore years between the Capitol and the Districts. A new era was rising. The wind carried whispered promises of justice but she would never see the phoenix rise from the Capitol's ashes.

Instead of a meal, the key opening her chains had been delivered by an elderly avox on a golden plate, along with a note from Snow.

_Thirteen is coming. The Mockingjay is a naive fool. All this because of her sacrifice for her sweet innocent sister, yet the rebels don't seem to care. How tragic. Choose the room where you wish to die.  
_

Mercury didn't even blink. She had outlasted her usefulness to Snow and made peace with her impeding death.

The corridors of the mansion's west-wing were silent and empty, already a monument to a decadent and depraved civilization that would soon be a mere memory. The poison agent was slowly paralyzing her muscles. She sat on a windowsill when her stiff legs failed to sustain her weight.

A single hovercraft blocking the winter sun cast a dark shadow on the large mansion. She could see rebels rushing towards the snowy barricade, and children, Capitol children. Her breath hitched; her lungs were turning to lead. She had minutes to live. She pressed her forehead against the window, squinting.

Rebel _medics_.

Snow's message took a whole new meaning.

Mercury's eyes misted with tears she wouldn't have thought still capable of shedding as she feverishly sought the frail blond Seam child whose reaping had changed Panem's history.

Wide smiles drew themselves on the faces of the fearful children as sponsor parachutes fell from the hovercraft. Mercury frowned, unable to conceive that either the Capitol or the rebels would be so generous. With production running so low, this was a tactical insanity.

A package floated past her window. Mercury couldn't breathe.

_No, not supplies. Explosives. _

The victor closed her tearful eyes.

_A cleansing fire, but at how high a price?_

Deafening explosions shattered her tenuous hold on reality._  
_

* * *

_Death bowed from the waist and offered her an outstretched hand._

_Mercury smiled._

_...  
_

_The life of the dead is placed in the memory of the living. _

_ Marcus Tulius Cicero (103 - 46 BC)_

* * *

...  
...

**Author's Note:**

Thank you to all who have read, followed and favorited this story, and especially to all of you who have brightened my days and made me grow as a writer with your reviews.**  
**

...

**Hall of Fame **(anyone who reviewed at least twice)**: **

Members:

ETNRL4L, Cairn Destop, androidilenya, shadesunrider13, Chaos in her Wake, Saraa Luna, Vyrazhi, nb1998, Hoprocker, Jakey121, Snoozinghamster, Dragonfan1512, Hoprocker, Katsparkles13, Radio Free Death, JustAFantasyGirl, David Noklevername, DarkHarlequin, Italian Duck, BR2607, PoofedfromPlanetEarth (formerly Laralulu) and Isabella Katniss.**  
**

Guests:

Felix Felicis, Ninja, Bubbles, Toodles, Albino Wookie, Exploited Guy, Well of Wishes, Delirium, Silas, Griffin2262, Lucy, Jerry, Lizzie, Reader, Can't sue me, Aspiring Writer, Now I feel stupid, and anyone who might have posted twice under two different pseudos.**  
**

...

I will edit this chapter to answer any explicit questions from guest reviewers and add new people to the Hall of Fame (or any forgotten ones, do make yourself noticed, I profusely apologize in advance). As usual I answer all my signed reviews through PM.**  
**

**This story is complete unless you readers lobby for an epilogue **(probably told from Finder's, Grace's or Enobaria's POV. Or all three^^. I've had President Paylor suggested to echo the prologue)**. Please mention what you'd like to see since I don't have a definite idea yet (05/2013: I haven't given up the idea of an epilogue). **

**...  
**

**Please review. **I won't be bugging you anymore after this.**  
**


End file.
